To Those Who Have Proudly Served

Happy 

The Definition of Confusion (Thank You, Mother)

Reposted from 3/15/2010 edited:

When my children were still quite young and in school, they used to visit their grandparents on school holidays. I would drive halfway to Pensacola to meet my mother and place my children in her care. The first few days always felt like utter bliss and then the house gradually became a mausoleum. By the time I would pick up my children, I was more than ready to have them come home again. I welcomed that deafening chaos and unruly banter that came with three children.

My mother was always rather rigid while I was growing up and had a very democratic way of handling punishment. If the guilty party didn't confess the first time when my brothers and I were asked who did something, we all suffered the consequences. As I grew older and eventually became a parent myself, the woman who raised me seemed to change. She got soft in her old age! Had I broken her spirit? Possibly! But each time my children would rave on about the fun-loving person who they perceived their grandmother to be, I knew it wasn't the same person who raised me. My mother was proof that aliens do exist! They has abducted my mother and left in her place a female Captain Kangaroo or would it date me too much if I said Shari Lewis and Lambchop? Ask anyone from my old neighborhood! They knew my mother was a force to be reckoned with. Her voice alone could raise the dead. 

Each time my children would go for a visit, it took weeks before I could straighten them out. My mother waited on them hand and foot and made them do NOTHING but fun things while they visited her. When they came home sassy and quite lazy, I would want to pull my hair out. One time while driving home, my children seemed quite mesmerized by a joke book one of them had gotten while in Pensacola. One of their visiting rituals was for her to take them (her angelic grandchildren) to Hawsey's, a used bookstore and let them each purchase a large paper bag full of books to read. All three of my children loved to read so going to Hawsey's was always a fun thing to do.

Since they were quiet on our trip home and this was an oddity for them, I tried to engage them in conversation only to be told they were busy reading jokes. That explained the occasional chuckle I heard from the backseat. I asked them to read me aloud some of the jokes. My youngest child, Matthew spoke up and said he would read one. Although he was only 7 at the time, his reading skills were quite advanced for someone his age. As Matthew read, I almost drove off the road.

Whats' the definition of "confusion"?

Twenty blind lesbians in a fish market!

WTF? Now, with glee they started reading more jokes from the book as fast as they could until I could gather my thoughts and ask them where they got the book. In unison they told me...HAWSEY'S! And of course I asked if  their grandmother let them buy that book? Well, I was told she never screened the books that they bought, so the book titled Truly Tasteless Jokes was easily purchased by my son, Daniel (age 9).

Then they all went on to start reciting the dirty little ditties my mother had taught them. It was then I knew she had truly lost her mind or maybe the rules that apply to being a parent were different from those that apply to being a grandparent. It definitely was a gotcha moment lovingly given to me by my mother. To this day, my mother just smiles innocently when this story is told. What I want to know is why she never taught my brothers and me these ditties when we were kids or why my grandmother never taught them to us? Geez! I feel cheated! 

An example of one of the my mother's ditties:

A flock of birds

Chocked full of turds

Flew over my father's castle

They stretched their necks

And shit a peck

Then closed up their assholes.

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful I don't live in a castle near a fish market.

Tara

It was Christmas Eve 2008 when Tara came to live with us. Whitey (my last surviving Himalayan cat) had just about grieved himself to death after Chewy, his brother passed away in May. He needed a friend, but I wasn't ready for another cat. Chewy was my baby. I loved him dearly and it crushed me when he died. He had cancer and I had to have him put to sleep. I guess that's the polite terminology for euthanizing your pet, but there's nothing polite about death.

Like a fool I used to go out doing last minute Christmas stuff and I had my son, Matthew with me. When we were headed home, I turned into the Escambia County Animal Shelter and he looked at me and asked me the obvious. Whitey had given us very specific instructions to follow: NO FEMALE CATS and NO BLACK CATS. The reason for this was that his very own mother hated him. Yes, his mother wasn't very nice (she used to bite him and the bites would et infected) and my mother had a black cat named Bob who got ahold of Whitey once and tore his neck open...so NO BLACK CATS and NO FEMALES CATS.

In we went to the Animal Shelter and they had a great selection of kittens and cats, but none of them seemed too playful or had very much personality except one and it kept sticking its paw out through the cage EVERY time we walked by. Hey, pick me! You guys, pick me! It talked and talked and talked and carried on until we came over and read its card and talked to it. So we ended up bringing that cat home for Whitey...it took him about a week to get used to HER. Yes, it was a FEMALE! And yes it was BLACK! He taught her all his bad habits and told her she didn't have to be a lap cat, but about a month before my mother's cat died she started sleeping on my mother's bed as if she knew my mother would need that when Pat was gone. Basically, she's become my mother's cat over the last few years and I think that's a good thing for both of them.

Today Tara is having surgery. She has a mass on her lower left side. The vet says that in cats that it's usually cancer, but they won't know for sure until the pathology report comes back. I know she's just a cat, but if you can please keep Tara in your thoughts I'd really appreciate it. She's a good kitty and we'd like to have her back home and healthy. Fenway, Libby and B.A. are cogs (cat/dogs) and Tara is a member of their pack. They patiently await her return...

Addendum: Thursday November 7, 2019 7:24am: This was written as a draft and was supposed to be posted on Thursday and not on Wednesday. It was my screw up for posting it early. Tara is getting operated today. I'll be dropping her off at the vet in less than hour.

Addendum: Thursday November 7, 2019 3:36pm: Tara is home and doing well. She was sent home with pain meds to take if she needs them. The vet at Megan's Landing Veterinary Clinic said the mass was easily removed. It appeared to be in a sac and had not metastasized to any other surrounding area. We'll know more when the pathology report comes back. I'd like to thank everyone for their support. It means so much to me.

Last Update: Sunday December 11, 2022 8:55am: The mass was cancer, but to date it never returned. Tara is now 14 years old and still a member of the dog pack. 

WHAT EVIL LURKS IN THE HEART OF MILDRED?

When I first made this discovery I was like the Tasmanian Devil I was so mad.  It's hard to keep your cool when you want to lash out and do something to a person, but you know there's nothing you can do and it's so frustrating you want to pull your own hair out.  So, you sit there fuming for awhile saying some very colorful language and then you slowly calm down because there's no point in staying angry. [grumble, grumble, grumble....and finally a huge sigh]

When the troll first appeared on my blog I was mildly irritated. At first, I hoped the person would simply go away, but that didn't happen. Obviously, trolls want to be annoying and only go away when blocked or impeached! The subject matter the troll selected to discuss in the comment section of my blog was what I referred to as a "British cum dumpster."  I won't mention the cum dumpster's whole name and I will get into that reason for that shortly, but when I googled that person I found out she was some 1980's porn star. Her first name is Pauline.

Like many people out here I had my settings on my blog set so anyone could leave a comment, but when this troll wouldn't go away, I changed my comment settings so only people with a Google account would be able to comment on my blog. All this change did was eliminate people from leaving anonymous comments. So far, this first step up in security eliminated the troll. So far so good!

Every now and then I check the "Traffic Sources" to my blog. When I did this a few days ago, this is when the Tasmanian Devil came spinning like a top out of control. The first URL I didn't recognize (it had the name monica29 in it), and it had like 175 hits on it coming to my blog. The second and third URL's I did recognize and had fewer hits than the first. I clicked on the first URL to find out what it was and was absolutely stunned when the page opened to a porn site. Nothing about the URL indicated it would be a porn site or I wouldn't have clicked on it. There I sit looking at a site called Chatubate (spelled wrong for obvious reasons).

After having a huge WTF??? moment I figured out why my blog was tied to this porn site. You see, when the dear troll kept referencing this British cum dumpster by name in each comment he left on my blog, it left a "footprint" for the search engine robots to index. I don't know how often they make their rounds throughout the internet, but what I should have done which I didn't do initially was delete all the trolls comments. I did however go back yesterday and delete everything he wrote. Hopefully, this will correct the problem in the future. For now, Mildred Ratched Memoirs is linked to Chatubate (again spelled the wrong way) because the British cum dumpster was mentioned by that darling troll. I wonder if his name was Donald! hmmmm! Wouldn't that be a hoot?

If this idiot has gone to any of your blogs, you might want to check your traffic sources, too under your stats and see if your blog is linked to any sites you don't recognize. I told Martha that I was going to write a blog post pitching a holy old fit about this troll and what he did, but why bother? He's just a little internet maggot that isn't worth the time and effort and besides I don't think I know enough bad language to describe him adequately.

VISIT A FELLOW BLOGGER

I've been a little too wrapped up in politics lately until Jennifer left a comment on my last blog post and I went to her blog Sparrow Tree Journal to repay the visit and got blown right out of my chair.

She wrote a moving post titled Shocking about a student whose mother committed suicide. The post rattled me and made me realize how fragile we all are. You never know from day to day what's going to happen and who looks okay and who doesn't. Don't ever take anyone's mental health for granted. Please go to her blog and leave a comment. Thanks!

Post a Movie Scene

The night before Halloween is called Mischief Night so in honor of that let's have some good old fashioned fun. Since I can't go egg the White House or leave a bag of burning dog poop on the front steps (I don't live close enough lol), I'll have to settle for some blogging chuckles instead. Jack Nicholson always gets me in this scene... who does it for you?