Reminder to the Mighty - December Great Experiment

I wrote this in September 2005 as I watched continuous CNN coverage of the fall out after hurricane Katrina.  Please enjoy my December contribution to The Great Experiment and head to
http://thegirlwho.squarespace.com/ to enjoy Monica's wonderful blog and the rest of this month's entries. 



Reminder to the Mighty

Hurrican Katrina unleashed hell on sovereign soil. Is this our retribution for Iraq? For the first time in years the attention of the media is thoroughly trained on something besides the war in Iraq. Unfortunately, that something is somewhat of another war zone. This war zone is not on the other side of the world, but is within our borders, along the Louisiana and Mississippi Gulf Coast. Thousands of Americans have lost their lives and many more are still dying each day.

They say God works in mysterious ways, ways we may not always understand. Is it possible we have become so callous and indifferent to the tragedies in Iraq, that we needed and up close and personal reminder of the hell of war, because the situation in New Orleans is as close to the hell of war as our country has experienced on our own soil in more than a century.

Almost every one of us has been guilty of armchair quarterbacking the Iraqi war, criticizing the actions of our government and troops as well as condemning the violent reactions of the Iraqi people. We have come to view the people of Iraq as uncivilized animals for not bowing at the feet of the soldiers that destroyed their defective civilization and are now trying to build them a better one. Nature destroyed the peace and civilization of the Gulf Coast, not soldiers and bombs. Those there to restore it are local and fellow countrymen, not foreign military. Yet Americans are responding with anarchy and violence against our own.

Should this serve as a huge reality check, perhaps? If the people of the most civilized and mightiest nation on Earth, who have lived a relatively easy and peaceful existence by comparison, are reacting the way Katrina's victims are reacting, how else could we expect the people of Iraq to react to their situation? Human nature, regardless of race, creed, color or country of origin, can be as ugly as it is beautiful.

We are seeing both ends of the spectrum now; beauty in the selfless actions of the police, military and volunteers trying to help hurricane victims, and ugliness in the selfish actions of some of those victims and the price-gouging profiteers. Difficult times such as these truly test human nature, and unfortunately desperation breeds evil as well as good. To that end, we should all be reminded to have compassion for one another, for the rescuers and the victims, and the soldiers and the Iraqis. And regardless of whom you pray to, be it God, as I do, or Allah, or Buddha, or whomever your higher power may be, remember to pray for compassion, patience and understanding as well as for the strength and resources to end the suffering and restore peace here and abroad. Ultimately, we are one people in one world, and sometimes even the mighty need to be rescued.

Method to My Madness

It was fall. Warm days, cool nights. Life was good, bills were paid. Married a couple of years and yet still maddeningly in love, honeymoon style, for the most part. We had wonderful, well behaved, well adjusted kids. A nicely blended family of five, all survivors of previous marital failure. We had family, jobs, intelligence, love, sex, friends, security.  Sweet happiness.  We had what so many strive for yet so many piss away every day. What the fuck was I thinking? I still wonder.

It was not his first time. I knew this. I had seen him do it before and I did not like it. I was scared so I did not participate.  Scared because my Nanny said the stuff could kill you. Scared because I could see another heart attack in my 27 year old husband's future. Yes, another. The first was cocaine. Before us.  And I just knew meth would surely blow up that heart that poured so much sweet love my way. 

I yelled, I cried.  I begged and pleaded.  "Surely, you'll die!" I screamed.  "My Nanny said!" 

But, I had seen him and our friends snort lines a few times right before my very eyes and they were all still very much alive.  Every time they did they just laughed and had a good time, had the energy to party well after I had gone down.  Maybe Nanny was wrong.  After all, she did have me convinced  motorcycles were murdercycles until I was 10.  Nanny might be wrong. 

Maybe a little, just this once would not hurt.

Nothing good ever comes from that phrase.   Nothing!  Listen to your Nannys, Mimmies, and Grannys people!

So it was a Friday night in the fall, some years ago.  The kids were all at their other parents for the weekend, and we had a few friends over.  We were sitting around the kitchen table, playing cards, and catching up.  We smoked a little weed.  I did love me some gateway!  And drank a little beer.  You know, a usual Friday night.  (And no, Nanny did not approve of weed, but she had not scared the bajeezzas out of me about weed.)

Someone pulled out that little baggie and broke out a mirror and I joined the madness.  I leaned over the table and took my turn at the short straw.  Sucking that chunky, crystal-ly powder right up my nose like I knew what I was doing.  Holy hell, the burn.  It burned like crazy when it hit my sinus cavity.  My eyes watered and I almost cried.  What the hell had I done?  This hurts.  And then the drip.  The bitter, aspirin, borax like slow drain down the back of my throat.  Yuck.  But awesome.  I started to rev up.  My temperature rose and I soared.  I chain smoked like I was mad.  We laughed and talked, sometimes all at once.  All night long!  I sounded like Janis Joplin, all sexy voiced from smoking and rahrah-ing for hours.  Our friends departed at dawn and we settled in for hours of beautiful conversation and wild, uninhibited , crazy sex.  It was like falling in love, my first time was.  I was nervous and excited and anxious for the next time. 

I did not know I was falling in love with an abusive prick.  Crystallized evil.  The devil come powder.  Meth harrassed me and stalked me for years, just like an abusive lover.  Rarely giving me the pure pleasure it had that first time.  Truthfully, never did again.  What the fuck was I thinking?

After too many miserable and embarrassing, awful lost years to admit, we finally shook the soul sucking hold it had on us and have been clean two and a half years.  Amazingly, the family is still intact.  Scarred and forever changed.  Not so innocent.  But still together and building back the everything we almost destroyed. 

Just say no.  Some things just should not be fucked with.  Like the serpent in the garden.


Go to http://thegirlwho.squarespace.com/ and check out all the other Great Experiment entries as well as Monica's awesome blog!

Snake Charmer

It was about ten at night when my mother came through the front door to our dark little house. I was five, my sister three, and we were sleepily stumbling behind her as she carried my brother, nine months old. My Dad was at work, the graveyard shift. Anyways, we were used to it. Mom was not a scaredy cat about being alone at night with just us kids. She was a real trooper, except when it came to SNAKES. To this day the woman will flip smooth the fuck out at the sight of any snake, even a teeny tiny green garden snake or a big earth worm. Mom will start screaming while hyperventilating while clumsily retreating when she sees a snake. I mean screaming like a mad woman with a crazy, psycho, contorted expression on her face while drunkenly running for her life. I have always been worried she would have a heart attack or stroke and fall over dead during one of these snake fits. Its painful and scary to witness and if snakes don’t scare you, her fits sure will.


But we were kind of used to these fits too because the house we lived in was old and had lots of places snakes could come in through. This happened a lot. However, snakes really should have been the least of their worries as the house was clad in awesome asbestos siding! Anyways, a few months before my mom had found a snake skin under my brothers crib, left behind by a fairly large molting snake. I’m really surprised she did not insist we move then, but she soldiered on a little longer.

Until that fateful night Mom flipped on the dining/living room light and spotted the snake under the china cabinet. And the fit commenced. She shoved the three of us to the other side of the room and ran to the kitchen where she grabbed the fully loaded knife block. She came exploding back into the dining area and started hurling knives at the snake like some crazy ass carnival act. The snake was coiled up and probably scared shitless. Not once did she hit it with about fifteen knives. So then, screaming the whole time, she grabbed the .22 rifle out of the corner where it stood with other loaded guns. (Hey, I’m from East Texas, need I say more?) Mom proceeded to unload the gun, probably 9 bullets, at the snake under the china cabinet. Finally it was dead. She left it where it lay and shaking like a leaf she scooped us up and hustled us out the door and back to grandma’s where we stayed til we found a new place to live, sans snakes.

The china and the cabinet were not harmed. In fact, I have the cabinet in my bedroom now, with my loaded 410 shot gun leaned up against it. Just in case. I learned from my momma about knife chunkin’, gun shootin’, and snake killin’!


Check out the GREAT EXPERIMENT and Monica's fabulous blog at: http://thegirlwho.squarespace.com/

The Fashionista and the Banana

Embarrassing moments?? Where do I start? I know they started earlier, those character building moments, but this is my first most vivid recollection. Fifth grade, kings of the elementary, the coolest, oldest kids at the school. First week and I was styling high on my coolness, wearing a fitted black jumpsuit with awesome red piping around the cap sleeves, collar, and down the edge of the button down front. (It was the 80's) I felt all grown up. It fit perfectly but made me look even ganglier than I was. As usual my waist length red hair was flyaway but my little black mini wedge heels, almost flats, were super slick. So as I approached the cafeteria window to return my empty lunch tray I was feeling ever so cool, walking tall, walking proud. Until I wasn't. A freaking banana peel was in my path and combined with my slick shoes, I had no chance. One minute I was a fashionista queen of elementary prancing across the crowded cafeteria, and the next I was lying flat on my back in banana sludge and corn juice. Thank goodness I had eaten my tray clean. My head and ass slammed hard against the tile floor. It hurt good, but I did not cry. I held my tears and of course jumped up quick, checking to see if anyone else had seen me. And of course, they had. Even in a loud cafeteria the sound of my thick melamine tray and silver, not to mention my head, hitting the tiles made everyone turn and look. And then bust out laughing. Luckily, my skull, if not my dignity, was still intact.
I could never wear that jumpsuit again without reliving that day. But I did live and those moments just keep coming.

Check out the Great Experiment and these embarrassing moments as well as The Girl Who, an awesome blog:
http://thegirlwho.squarespace.com/