Back To My Roots

 

Boy oh boy was I a beauty or what?

(much sarcasm intended)

My mother was furious when I (totally over) plucked my eyebrows into two thin arches without asking or telling her. Now at the age of almost sixty five I understand why she was mad. They never grow back. Ever.

This was the age which I starting writing in earnest, meaning I wrote every single day or so. I still have about five filled hard back journals and even a diary from when I was about ten. You know, the kind with a lock and tiny key which kept absolutely no one out of it. Writing has always been my friend and always will be. I'm no rocket scientist and was never an outstanding scholar. I made straight A's in first grade and was all academically downhill from there once math came into play. My first grade teacher loved me. Reading came very easy to me and I excelled in the subject. I could read a book out loud in class with the correct inflections and knew how to make the words tell the story rather than sound like an assignment the teacher called on you to perform during class.

I didn't know it then, but it was when my love affair of the written word began.

I am teetering on the precipice of sixty five and still enjoy writing more than anything else I do, besides loving my family.

When COVID hit in 2020, it changed everyone's life, routine and sense of reasoning. I was pretty much forced into retirement. Our restaurant shut down March 16 and didn't reopen until almost summer. When they finally reopened and called people back to work it was on a scaled down list and can't blame them for going with the younger servers but still felt like a slap in the face considering I had worked circles around every young server there for almost four years and often did my job as well as theirs. So much for seniority...literally.

Luckily by this point we were out of the sardine can rental and into our forever home in the Isle of Pines, so I was happily/ begrudgingly unemployed. I began writing again and made snail mail not only my friend but my friends' friend as well. I wrote to my parent's friends that I was still in touch with after both of their passing many years ago. I wrote to folks I knew from back home in Georgia, old classmates, elementary, high and even college years, old co workers, former bosses and even former customers  I'd waited on who I had become friends with. Just a little something for them to find sitting in the mailbox along with bills and junk mail. Sometimes one stamp is all it costs/takes to make someone smile for a couple of minutes in their day, and that's a good and positive thing to do with your spare time. Plus I enjoy the actual writing on paper with a pen as opposed to a typed message, text or email.

This past year I slacked off a bit for a number of reasons. I took up a cause after nosing and inserting myself into a former classmate from high schools' business, who was searching for her long lost sister who was missing and had been living on the streets of the outskirts of downtown Atlanta for over a decade. That's a pretty big search area.

For once social media giant FB  did what it was designed to do. Reconnect people and friends.

She was found living under a bridge in below freezing temperatures. She had a thread bare coat, hat, backpack and a blue tarp. 

 Cathy was an absolute minimalist, that's for sure. How she survived the lean mean streets for eleven years boggles my mind.

After a huge social media push and with help from friends, former classmates, people who had stopped by to check on her under the bridge and even strangers, we somehow someway beat the exhaustive red tape and endless hurdles and secured her permanent housing on the outskirts of downtown Atlanta. People donated furniture, new clothing, supplies, bedding, toiletries, untensils, dishes, pans and even a basically brand new washer and dryer. My sister and I decided she needed a comfy recliner and I found one for free in my neighborhood. My brother graciously shipped it up from here in Orlando to  Atlanta and a dear friend of mine went to the freight terminal in ATL and not only picked it up but delivered it right to her new apartment.

This entire situation, all the generosity, charity and literal moving truck full of furniture and supplies was very overwhelming for her. You could see it on her face. She was terrified of it. Yes she wanted it, but she was still terrified of it after eleven years of absolutely nothing and no one. I don't blame her for being apprehensive after all she's been through on the streets and over the years.

She almost looks confused and bewildered in the photos...and trust me she was. She'd been living a feral life for over a decade. 

How she didn't have one gray hair on her head was and still is a mystery to me. She still has that beautiful red hair from childhood.

Yes, now she had four walls around her with a door which locked and a roof over her head. She had new socks, underwear, clothing, a place to bathe, a place to cook and even a place to wash and dry her clothes. New sheets, bedding, comforter and pillows on a beautiful queen size bed. Love seat, end tables, coffee table, kitchen table and chairs, rugs for the floor, and a pretty fully stocked kitchen and pantry.

We were thrilled for her, right along with all the many people who'd joined our journey in finding her safe and permanent housing. A place for her to call home.

Of course her mental health has taken a tremendous blow after years on the streets alone. I don't think I could have even survived it not to mention still retain any semblance of sane thinking. She refused any counselling or even talking with a mental health official. She's a grown woman and was her decision to make or not make, as much as we wanted her to seek help.

She's been off the streets for almost a year now, and still hasn't slept in the bed that was lovingly donated along with an almost brand new mattress, box springs and all new bedding.

She feels like it is too nice to even mess up by getting into. She slept curled up on the floor or the love seat in the living room. That's when we found her the recliner down here in Orlando where I live and had my brother once again ship it up to ATL for her. He had shipped the bed, mattress and box springs up as well. The recliner is what she now sleeps in. She simply doesn't feel worthy. She feels like (in her own words) "beholding" to all these good people who have done all of these wonderful things for her. She's scared to wear the new coat someone bought her because (she said) it was too nice and would get beat up for it if she wore it. 

It's been a year long struggle for her sister, who found her under the bridge after eleven years of looking. She still works full time and lives two hours north of Atlanta. Every weekend she makes the drive down to check on her and take her to run errands. It's been a struggle for Cathy, mentally and emotionally, through no fault of her own but simply by the cards life dealt her. She lived with her mother with who she was very close to and when her mother died it broke her. She just walked away from her life and lived on the streets moving from underpass to underpass and somehow survived until her older sister found her through a Facebook post about a homeless woman living under bridges near the area where we grew up. Some citizens in the community often stopped to check on her or take her food. She always declined offers of housing. They sometimes posted about her on their community FB page and someone who knew her sister reached out to her asking if this may be her missing sibling...and turned out it was.

I can't even begin to imagine what all her mental well being has been through and endured for over a decade on the lean streets. It is a testament of her strength as a tiny woman that she has even made it this far.

Sadly, budgeting, planning, keeping track of  all the things involved in maintaining your own place simply isn't in her wheel house...through no fault of her own but still is a requirement when having a home to take care of. It has overwhelmed her and frustrated her. Without constant and steady guidance she seems unable to live and maintain on her own independently. It has taken a toll on not only Cathy but her sister who makes the almost 200 mile round trip almost every weekend sometimes more, while maintaining her own full time job and sanity. How she has continued to do it for almost a year now is a mystery to me but a true testament about the love of a sister.

She and I talk frequently, usually while she is either driving down there to check on Cathy or driving back to her own home in north Georgia.

Cathy has struggled to remember when rent is due or how to even use the cell phone her sister bought her. She's gotten behind a couple of times and doesn't seem to grasp the urgency of a due date and being on time with things she is expected to take care of. It's like we have overloaded her thought process and mental capacity in a huge and overwhelming way. She said she doesn't deserve or can take care of all these things and feels she will be better off at the women's mission in downtown Atlanta. So her sister took her to visit the mission, which is not a pleasant or calming experience. Cathy hasn't mentioned going back to it since, but now we know where we stand.

We all pooled our generosity and gave Cathy everything we thought she needed for a better life. We did all of that from the comfort of our own home which I guarantee most of us take for advantage. We (which absolutely includes me) didn't consider how she would manage suddenly going from the streets to a warm place with amenities she feels she doesn't deserve or know how to manage.

Yes we want her to get mental health help and guidance she desperately needs but she is a grown woman and her own person. She isn't a child or puppet we can pull the strings of.

It's a total catch 22. The past month or so has been a roller coaster and her sister is distraught over what all these people who contributed to getting Cathy off the streets will think, especially if things don't work out.

I told my friend to mark that worry off her list. I know pretty much every single person who has contributed to this venture...I was simply a facilitator. While I also contributed, I was more of a person who just got Cathy's story out and am lucky enough to have and know some really wonderful friends and people. I know that not one single one of them did it for recognition or brownie points. If it ends up not working out, they won't be looking for refunds or holding grudges about anything which may or may not happen.

If you are reading this, do me a favor. Say a prayer, send up or out good vibes for Cathy and all she has not only gone through but is still going through. Be her village right along with all of us. Keep her in your thoughts and wish nothing but positivity and the best for her mental and physical well being...because there but the Grace of God go any one of us. Any of us could be Cathy or someone in her worn out shoes. I think about that every single day.

She's living like a homeless person in an apartment with everything she needs for a calm and safe existence. She just doesn't feel worthy or justified in having nice things but believe me you, she deserves it more than anyone I have ever met. And her sister deserves to feel like her sister is safe as well. And before you come back with comments, yes she tried to get Cathy to come live with her but she refuses. With all her weaknesses and problems, she is still an adult and still in control of her own life and decisions. The best we can hope for is that she comes around and makes the choices we all hope for her to make.

Kinda makes your own problems feel small and unimportant doesn't it? I know it does for me.

Send Cathy good vibes out to the universe please. I'd sure appreciate it, and so would Cathy and her sister. Any suggestions or ideas are always more than welcome, we've pretty much exhausted all of ours, but will keep up the fight as long as necessary. It the worn shoe was on the other foot, Cathy would be the first person to volunteer and help if she could. She's a good person.

This journey with Cathy and her sister changed my life. It has made me realize how much (most) all of us take for granted in our lives and how truly lucky I am, with all my faults, flaws and inadequacies. I am indeed a lucky woman.

Till next time, COTTON

The Calm After The Storm

 

Once again we dodged the ole hurricane bullet. We know it won't be that way every single time but will take and be grateful for all the misses we can. People always say how they would never live here because of hurricanes. At least with canes you have days if not weeks to prepare. Tornadoes and earthquakes just blindside you with no notice whatsoever.

On the upside, living here the rest of the time is a complete weather pleasure. Granted you have a few chilly days scattered in during January but by February spring is poking its head again. After almost eight years of living here I've learned my favorite season is anytime.

We are far enough inland to feel basically safe(r) from a hurricane storm surge although we also realize that we can still have significant to devastating damage. Potato/Potahtoe.

Bad things can happen anywhere, at any time, to anyone.

That is why you need to live where you feel happy. We were happy in Georgia for decades and decades. Then the opportunity came up for Tim to transfer here with a pretty big promotion so he took it. He lived here for well over a year before we followed him down. My brother graciously let Tim live at his house, probably the longest year of his bachelor life, but we were/are grateful for his  hospitality.

I enjoy the warmer weather. We still have a touch of autumn and a whisking of winter but most of the time it's flip flops and shorts.

My favorite uniform.

I'm not even sure why I still have a sock drawer. I could get by with a four pack of footies and a pair of tube socks just in case. Instead I have a huge drawer stuffed with so many socks I could put on a sock puppet Woodstock, including the attending crowd of socks.

Tomorrow I am purging that drawer, boxing up the probably fifty pair of random socks and mailing them to a non profit in a much colder climate. I'm including the many heavy sweaters and a whole bunch of jeans that I just store under a window cabinet in my bedroom. Why in the world do I need ten pair of Levi's? Levi shorts, maybe...but long pants? No.

I did give away or donate most of my winter coats after moving here. Seemed silly to hang onto them after a year or so of living here.

And the comforters and sheets to beds we no longer have? Why am I hoarding old blankets and comforters? 

Maybe I'm the reason for poverty in third world countries. (kidding but not kidding)

All good questions.

Some comments are meant to be lighthearted or in jest, but still...why am I hanging on to all these things? Especially when they could be made useful and make a difference to someone else.

I'll be honest. I think we're all tired of cleaning up after Helene and Milton. They must have been one miserable married couple to wreak the havoc they did on the east coast...and up into the mountains. 

Weather, good and bad is everywhere. You can't run from Mother Nature, she'll always beat you. Every time.

I'm getting a pile together tomorrow...a big pile.

 I'll keep my most sentimental and favorite hoodies, of course my Harley jacket and about two days worth of cold outfits. That's usually the length of a cold snap here, so the rest is only taking up space instead of helping someone else who needs it.

I still have clothes I wore when I first met Tim in the late eighties. I even have the pajamas my Diddy wore when he was wheeled into the hospital in 2002 with West Nile Virus. I still have the wedding dress my mother wore when she married our Diddy in the early 1950's. It's in a garbage bag in my garage, in horrific condition but wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. 

I have so many towels, clothes, blankets, sheets, comforters, kitchen gadgets and random small appliances that I could go on the old "Let's Make a Deal" and totally get on stage.

I feel a bit ashamed that I haven't thought of this yet...but I've thought of it now.

Freeing up my junk space, which is awesome but also providing someone else an even better space.

Being a good person. 

That's all it takes...and doesn't cost one red cent.

Til next time...COTTON

 

Helping A Little Helps A Lot

When we first moved to Orlando I introduced Massey to a girl I worked with, around her age. She is the sweetest kid ever. She is always positive and upbeat...and for the life of me (after learning her story) wonder how she manages it. Her mother suffers from debilitating MS and is totally wheelchair bound. When I first met this young girl, her Dad had just been diagnosed with cancer and was scheduling chemotherapy. That's the way Massey came to know her, going with me to drop dinner off for my coworkers' family every week or so, just to help out a little bit.

All said and done, he finally recovered and was in total remission. I'm sure it was a huge relief for them all.


A few short weeks ago, Cancer reared its ugly head again in the form of tumors found during a  routine check up. His insurance company denied to pay for chemotherapy this time.

Nice. (not!)

Luckily they found a drug company who would pay for the chemo.

 My daughter and her friend started a go-fund me to help with the bills while he was going through treatment.

https://www.gofundme.com/CuljatTeam


We're off to a good start and hoping to be able and help quite a bit, considering gofund me keeps a percentage.

I'm going to go pitch it to the head of our Human Resources and see if maybe the company could help out this team member.

Wish us luck and will keep you posted. Feel free to click the above link and read their story and throw a little Love their way if you can. You get by with a little help from your friends.

Be a friend.

Til next time...COTTON

Real Reasons For The Season

I met a young woman here in Orlando recently. I don't know her  very well, we've only spoken a few times. She's very quiet...unlike me. We spoke for a few minutes at length the other night and I found out she was working two jobs and seeking a third one. I could tell she had a lot on her mind. I asked if she had any kids? She has four. I asked if she was married? She is. She was worried about making her rent that month and was in jeopardy of losing her home. I asked if the husband was helping her? He wasn't. She quietly said she had asked him to leave, and seek help for his anger issues.

Long story short, he'd become abusive. Her older son is scared to be around him, after being hit by the coward. She told me she supposed she would have to go to the battered womens' shelter that night because she didn't have enough money to pay her rent.

I told her to wait just one more day and got her contact information, telling her I may be able to find her some help and would get back in touch with her.

That story broke my heart...and really ticked me off. To be abusive to your wife is bad enough but to pick on a child...your own child is beyond horrendous and more than cowardly.

I thought about it all night. I knew I didn't have enough money to give her for rent, having just paid my own car note and cell phone bill.

This young woman needed some help and needed it quickly. She was doing her best and had kicked the loser out, taking herself and her kids out of harms way.

After wracking my brain, I made the only phone call I could think of the very next day.

I called my brother and told him Tim and I had both decided what we wanted from him for Christmas this year if he felt like shopping early. He said he would be more than happy to have some ideas from us.

I told him this young womans' story and asked if he could help her pay the rent as a present to us both.

Of course he didn't hesitate for one second, immediately saying yes. Massey went by his office for me and picked up his check while I got ready for work. I called my new friend and asked if she could come by where I worked to pick up a check that night. She said she didn't get off work until late but certainly could if I'd still be there.

She was flat out flabbergasted. She thanked me over and over again, saying she couldn't believe how someone had agreed to help her after only recently meeting.

It is the best Christmas present my brother has ever given us and certainly the best present this young woman ever expected to get.

I did a little investigation work of my own before asking my brother for this gift, just to be safe since I was asking for such a huge favor.

I've always been a pretty good judge of character and turned out my instincts were indeed right.

All this did really, was give her a little breathing room and some time to regroup. Sometimes that's all it takes.

Her landlord couldn't believe it when she called the next day to say she had his rent money, in its entirety. He asked how she had managed that?

She told him, "because I was blessed."

You know, as bad as it got for me and Tim at times...was nothing in comparison to what this woman is going through. Tim has never raised a hand to me and certainly never to any of our kids. We worked through it together, as a team and as parents. Yes we argued and sometimes pointed fingers but was always in frustration rather than anger or violence.

On a side note...I have come up the bomb of all presents for my brother this Christmas. He's not easy to buy for but certainly deserves more than a shirt or golf balls this year.

My new friend called me to say she slept easy and peacefully that night for the first time in a long long time.

Of course you know me...the writer.

When I gave her the check I also gave her one of my nicer note cards with a pre stamped envelope and asked her to please write my brother a thank you note and would be all the thanks necessary.

True Fact.


Without our many blessings from God, family, friends and yes even complete strangers...Tim and I wouldn't be where are are today, and I will be forever grateful to and for them.

My next call will be to my sister, who has worked for and with battered women for years. She can tell me how to best help get this woman as much help as we possibly can.

All it takes... is to step out of your own comfortable life for a moment, realize how blessed you truly are and do whatever you can to pay those blessings forward.

Till next time...COTTON

Too Much Too Little Too Late

I went by the post office today to buy a book of stamps. The line was long and slow moving. Before I went in the door, passed two women taping up about six large boxes for mailing on the trunk of their car. I noticed a couple of them were packed with food items. I smiled, said hello and simply asked "Puerto Rico?" One of the women replied they were for family members. I simply told them "God Bless you all...and I'm so sorry this country has been so slow to react to help those American citizens. It's embarrassing, and I apologize."

I got inside and found a long and slow moving line. Every person in there besides me and one African American dude were Hispanic, shuffling forward in line, moving a pile of taped up boxes along with them...doing what they could to help out family and friends back home, living in more than catastrophic conditions.

I have been a server for almost forty years and worked with more Hispanic people than a lot of people ever will. They are quite literally the back bone of the restaurant industry. They are some of the hardest working people I've ever met, from bussers to dishwashers to utility to cooks to sous chefs. Off hand I can't think of one lazy Hispanic person I've ever worked with. I'm sure there are a few, but more often than not, they are hard working, great producers and many of them send part of their paycheck back home to help other family members.
He's from Puerto Rico and most of his family is still there. They don't have power, they don't have water, they don't have gas or diesel for generators, they don't have ice or even food. The hospitals don't even have power.

How can this government, our government, my government have waited so long to help these American Citizens?

Everyone here, in their air conditioned house with mobile devices and internet wants to go on and on and on about NFL players (peacefully) protesting police brutality while American citizens are literally dying, living with inhumane conditions while enduring tropical heat.



That's what we need to be going on and on and on about. That's what should bother people the most.


Another thing which bothered me was seeing all those people in the United States Post Office paying to mail all these heavy packages. One woman in front of me paid seventy dollars. Can't we allow these packages to be mailed for free?

I don't have a lot of money, but  have all the necesitites and even amenities of a pretty great life. I have a job where I can make more money any time I pick up an extra shift and walk out the door with it...that night.

Here's what I can do.

I can take this stash of water we have stockpiled in our garage when Tim's company delivered it before and after Irma hit and can take all the baby wipes we bought, wondering if we'd need them to bathe with if the water went out and ran out. I can take the huge bag of every size battery known to man that we have and drop it all off at the American Red Cross to be shipped to Puerto Rico. I have so many clothes I never wear, spare flip flops, even extra paper towels in the garage. I have enough spare sheets to make beds for ten people. I have enough canned goods to feed us for two weeks.

None of this will go very far in Puerto Rico, but if every stateside American did the same, it would.


My offering is a grain of sand, but if the other 323.1 million people living here did the same, it would make a huge difference to millions in Puerto Rico, with nothing gone but things you had to spare.

Katrina wasn't kind to NOLO, Texas was devastated recently as well, the Keys took an awful hit too and even people here in Orlando are still flooded...but they are here. We can reach them and help them rebuild.

The Alchemist is the first book I've ever read with a highlighter in my hand the entire time. There are enough inspirational quotes in that book to change even the sorriest person on earth.

I recently bought a copy for someone who has been struggling. I thought they needed to read it. I started to loan him my copy but I have so many things high lighted in mine that it feels like a part of my soul.

I have faith.

I have doubts, just like I had today, but also think that positvity begets positivity. I've been through a lot this past decade...but millions and millions of others have gone through so much more and actually makes me grateful for our tiny downward blip on the grand screen of life.



I gotta give credit where credit is due.

I left the computer in our bedroom while finishing this blog, went into the kitchen and asked my husband as I passed by, who was sitting three feet away in our tiny temp rental living room what song tied this blog together?

Bam!!

This guy...we met, both broke as jokes but flourished then failed but always remained steadfast.

He nailed it.

All you have to do is "give a little bit."

Till next time...COTTON

How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?

Oh for Pete's sake, Irma just left and here comes Maria. It's supposed to be affecting us by Tuesday.

                                                   

                                                    Bitch...please.


I thought we were prepared for Irma. Seems we really weren't. Hindsight is always 20/20.

The day before Irma was to hit they cautioned everyone to be hunkered down by six PM. Of course I came across a really good recipe on Facebook at five thirty so headed out to purchase the two missing ingredients. Went to five or six stores...all were closed. I was heading back to the house when I saw a little market still open on a corner in a small shopping strip mall.

It's called Lucky's Market. I bet I'd driven by it a hundred times. I always assumed it was an oriental market run by Hop Sing and his wife, who he loved long time. Well Hop Sing was my hero now with that open sign glaring and I swung into the parking lot.

Holy Shitake Mushrooms!

It was like Whole Foods for half the price. All organic and a lot of house made items. The had their own butcher shop, made their own sausages, baked goods, deli items, enormous selection of bulk nuts, trail mix, candies and dried fruits. In the front section was a pseudo Starbucks which also serves beer and wine. You gotta love a shopping buggy with a cup holder for your alcoholic beverage while you shop.

They were closing in ten minutes to had to hurry but after Irma, Massey and I went back shopping and took all these photos. The day we went they even had a three piece band playing. It's the most fun I've ever had grocery shopping. Huge beer and wine selection, you can even create your own six pack. We even found Atlanta's own SweetWater 420.

Anyhoo...back to Irma.

Just when I thought it would be okay, it wasn't. I've never heard such wind and rain, for hours and hours and hours. We could hear pieces of the house flapping and tearing and clanging...all in the middle of the night, with no power and only battery operated visor lights. It was a long night and the storm went well into the morning hours.

We made it. We were all alive and had a roof over our heads. No back yard fence or many roof shingles left and lots of huge branches down, but felt pretty lucky.

The first day after wasn't too bad, it was still extremely breezy and we opened all the windows and sliding glass door.

The second day was like living in a crock pot set on high...a long slow simmering twenty four hours. All the ice melted and so did our frozen food. The refrigerator smelled like a three day old crime scene.

Lesson number one learned about surviving a hurricane...don't stock up a refrigerator or freezer. The ice always runs out and you'll never have enough.

I did come up with a good idea. I sent a text to our sous chef at work and asked if he was planning on going to check on the restaurant? He said he was and I asked if we could meet him there to fill up our cooler with ice?

Bingo! At least we had cold drinks. Our food was already all spoiled but a cold Co Cola sures tastes good, not to mention a cold beer.

By the third day I thought about walking across the intersection to the old folks home with their annoyingly loud generators humming away and committing myself. It was ninety degrees before noon, was only going to get hotter and knew I couldn't last much longer. Tim took a cold shower, I couldn't muster the strength to even sit up. Massey had bought a small spray water bottle with a tiny battery operated fan on the top. I went through four sets of batteries and kept it a foot away from me at all times.

Since I hogged the only fan in the house, Tim and Massey ventured out in search of food. They had been gone about two hours, probably just enjoying riding in an air conditioned vehicle (and couldn't blame them).

Not to mention, through all of this, our three dogs never complained once (not that they could have) but knew it couldn't be too much fun to sit around in an eighty five degree house wearing a fur coat you couldn't take off. With no fence we had to walk three dogs, three or four times a day and steer the blind one away from all the debris he couldn't see.

So I was trying to read a book, with sweat dripping into my eyes like I was outside cutting grass when suddenly I saw the lamp beside me come on. Then the TV came on as the ceiling fan slowly started to spin. I crossed my fingers and waited for it to go out again. It didn't.

I gave the A/C a fifteen minute head start, then started shutting all the windows and closing all the blinds.

The house (it's tiny) cooled off to seventy nine degrees in about an hour. It was like living in an igloo!

I had to go back to work that night, and thankfully could take a warm shower and wash a uniform. We were balls to the wall busy. People had cabin fever. The kitchen ran with a skeleton crew, some people were flooded in, some were out of power for over five days. Lots of orders got doubled in all the confusion and we ended up with a buffet of food coming back to the expo window.

One of my favorite servers was working with me that night. His power was still out. He and I met in the dish room every spare second we had, sharing and scarfing down Cape Canaveral shrimp with a chipoltle aioli and crab spring rolls with a ponzu reduction. Neither one of us had eaten warm food in days and it was wonderful to eat even luke warm leftover food.

The one good thing about Irma is she hit while we were still renting. The landlord sent a crew out yesterday, they put up a new fence and nailed tarp over the entire roof.

Work has been a double blessing. I'm eating good and the tipping gods have smiled on me. I'm making pretty good money and getting closer to 'airport' money each and every week.

And now...

We got Maria coming?

At least I'll be smarter this time. Nothing but canned fruit, peanut butter, chips and crackers. The only thing I'm icing down is drinks.


Once the power came back on and I saw the devastaion others went through, and continue to go through, know once again we are truly blessed and lucky people.

I was out back reading with the pups yesterday before work. It's a Richard Russo book, "Nobody's Fool". It's about a lot of things but also about a down and out guy (Sully)who was a football star in high school but a failure in his later life.

"Sully, it seemed, scarcely got interested in the contest until someone on the other team landed a good shot or offered an insult, after which something changed in Sully's eyes. If Sully couldn't win the game, he'd start a fight and win that. If he couldn't win the fight he'd started, he'd continue to hurl himself at whatever he couldn't beat with increased fury, as if the knowledge that the battle was unwinable heightened its importance. What Sully did better than anybody else was pick himself up off the ground, and when he returned to the huddle, bruised, nose bloodied, limping, he'd still be hurling insults over his shoulder at whoever had put him on the ground."

Sometimes you have to take off your skirt and get in the game. Ironically enough, I haven't worn a skirt in years.

We're stepping out here in Orlando, and stepping into our future. You gotta keep stepping.

 Til next time...COTTON

It's a Family Affair

Massey just got her driver's permit (another blog altogether) and in going through box after box after box in the hovel that is my garage looking for her birth certificate I stumbled upon four photo albums I thought were gone for good.

When my Diddy was alive he had the huge box of family photos we have had since long before I was born. They were all kept loose in a Busch beer box that belonged to my uncle. One year for Christmas I sneaked the box out of his house and bought four nice photo albums and filled them with all the photos putting them in somewhat chronological order. Some pictures dated back to the Great Depression and were a compilation of our life history. After Diddy died the boxes of his stuff were shuffled between my house and my sister's house when she moved. We have been looking for them for them for years. Thanks to the new complicated procedures to obtain a simple driving permit I was forced to  go through every box in my garage looking for Massey's birth certificate. The last box I dug through held the treasure...AND her birth certificate!

I spent hours going through  these albums. I laughed, I teared up and often times cracked up...hence the above photo. It was at a family reunion before Tim and I were married. Tim was there but we had only been dating for a few months.

This picture SCREAMS "The Leach Family."

 

I also came across this picture of my Momma at her wedding shower.  I love all the hats!
All three women to her right are my aunts. People just don't dress for the occasion these days like they used to.

I even came across  this picture of me and Diddy at the Valentine Dance my senior year in high school. It was right after Momma had died and he was one of the chaperones. We were Jitterbugging, he and Momma had shown us all how to as kids, playing those thick 78 RPM records on the turn table in our dining room. I can still remember the words..."Mopping up soda pop rickies to our hearts delight, dancing to a swingeroo quickie, juke box Saturday night."

My family has always been a crazy eclectic mix and I have followed tradition raising my own family. When I was little, our house was the one where everyone wanted to hang out and they were always welcome.

When my own kids were young it was full of sometimes ten kids on any given day...and they were always welcome (til  they broke something important and then they scattered like the wind.)

It's nice to have that house where everyone wants to be. My house has never been a mansion, far from it. But it's not one of those houses where you  can't eat in the living room. It's a house where you are welcome to eat or drink anything out of my humble kitchen. It's a house you  can spend the night in and a house you  can come to if you have nowhere else to go. One of Zach's friends got kicked out of his house after a fight with his father his senior year and finished school living in our spare bedroom. At least I knew he went to school every day and we even got him a cap and gown to walk in at graduation.

When I was little there were some friend's houses  that had strict rules. You  couldn't walk through the living room ...it was always vacuumed and if you  tried they  could see your footprints in  the carpet  that showed the fresh vacuum marks. Some kids had bedrooms that looked more like a room in a hotel than a kid's room.  I remember one house in our neighborhood whose mother had a sign taped to her refrigerator "If you don't live here, don't open this door."

My house has always been open for any kid. Adults not so much, but kids should always have a place to go and my house was usually it. I'd rather have them all here than worry  about where they were.

It's a different world than I was lucky enough to grow up in. It's full of temptations that weren't around in the sixties and seventies...or even the eighties or nineties. It's a world that is full of hate and world that tempt kids every day to do the wrong thing. If they feel comfortable and safe in my modest humble home, I welcome them with open arms and an open heart.

I'm not the greatest mother, but I'm not the worst. I aspire to be the best but often fall short. Most of the kids that hang at my house know me well enough that they know I have been through the wringer the past few years. They still come here.

I'm no "Ann Leach" (my own Momma) but I am Kelly Leach and learned from the best.

My kids make mistakes, so do I. Who am I to judge?

My youngest is a senior so I suppose this is my last year of "Open House."

Being honest, I'll miss it but also feel like these past sixteen years have been awesome.  I've seen all these kids grow up in my house along with my own kids.

True to the times, one of them has already been killed in a senseless shooting.

It breaks my heart for the kids of today.

"Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one."

Teens tend to think they are invincible and nothing can stop them. One bullet stopped my neighbor's son. I wish he had been at my house that night instead of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You want to hold your kids close, but you can't. They wrestle themselves away  from you in an attempt to grow up. Sometimes they do and unfortunately sometimes they don't.

My kids call me paranoid. I take that as a compliment.

My house is a mess and I know it. It's not a rats nest or filthy but simply a place where any kid is welcome. I think we need more places like my house!

I am worried about the world. I am worried about our kids. Heck I am worried about that $86 check I wrote at the grocery store yesterday.

The grand scheme of life in my mind is this... Live your life so that when you are gone a bunch of people will show up and say that you made a difference in their life.

What greater compliment could a person hope for?

Til next  time...COTTON