Bad Tidings
The Wife received a call from "Tammy". Apparently, "Tammy" had been in touch briefly with "Celeste" via instant messaging at some point recently.
According to "Tammy", "Celeste" claimed to have run away, and was now living in the Twin Cities. She seems to appreciate the fact that now she can have all the drugs and sex she wants, with nobody to tell her what to do.
"Celeste" has yet to reach 15. I have a bad feeling she won't make it to 18.
If you are not a foster parent but are considering it, you should bear this type of situation in mind. If you do this for any length of time, it WILL happen to one of your kids. My folks had one girl whose ultimate dream job was to be a hooker in Minneapolis.
It wouldn't be very strange--if you did it for a long time--if one of your kids died while you still knew them. And there's always the (smaller) chance that they could die while in your care, through no fault of your own.
But you'd have to live with that, just the same. It behooves you to at least consider whether you or your family could deal with such things before you find out the hard way.
Labels: "Celeste", "Tammy"
"Celeste" Pushes the Envelope (And "Josie" Goes Down the Tubes")
This girl is good. I mean GOOD. But, the problem is, we've gotten wise to her ways. She has YET to learn that she has no real power in this situation, except to just give it up and TRY. We've now got it set up so that if she screws up at school, she'll get hit at home. If she screws up at home, she'll get in-school suspension (ISS). That's like a daylong study hall, except without the fun.
Now, she's stepped across a couple of other boundaries. She's pierced her NIPPLE. Good God. I'm not a woman, but I picture someone trying to pierce my sack, and I just have to pound their head. What is wrong with this girl??? Somebody please enlighten me in the comments.
Anyway, that's only a small disclosure of the many, many things she's done to deserve to be in ISS for 5 years. Do we still love her? More than ever. Because we tend to interpret her increasing violations of the boundaries that she damn well knows as tests. And her tests will be passed. The girl is now grounded until sometime in 2013.
"Josie". Sigh. I was talking to "Melanie" tonight, and she let slip that "Josie" is now doing meth. It is now only a matter of time until "Josie" either wises up or dies. Based on prior experience, I guess I have to steel myself for tragedy. It's the only way to keep myself from crying as I write this.
And yet...there's still hope. I still hope. I just wish I had been the only father figure in that girl's life. If that was the case, there's no way she would have such low self-esteem. She'd know much higher standards. But now I can only smile and nod when I see her and hope for a chance to address the things that are hurting her so bad.
Why do we do this fostering stuff? Because we care. Maybe sometimes we care too much. But that's far, far better than caring too little.
Labels: "Celeste"
Letter to "Celeste"
It's been bad lately. How bad is it? "Celeste" has screwed up several times a day, EVERY SINGLE DAY, for what The Wife says is about a week and a half but to me seems like it must at LEAST have been 3 weeks.
We only suspected for awhile that she was purposely *trying* to get herself sent away. Now we have it from her own mouth. My answer? "That's *NEVER* going to happen." And that answer has the bonus value of even possibly being true. But I'm frustrated enough with her at the moment that it may be false, too.
There were many blowups tonight. It's the very first time I've ever seen "Celeste" in actual, uncalculated TEARS. Breakthrough? Probably only of the statistical kind. And yet...and yet...wouldn't it be nice if it really
was a breakthrough? It could have been. It's hard to tell after you've been lied to so often and for so long.
We called over our best fostering buddy. This is a woman who I have written about before, but her position in our life has changed considerably since we met her. She used to be the fellow foster parent who usually hosted our Share and Support meetings. She struck me as a pretty woman, very smart, very tolerant of a rather fiery husband (long time readers will remember him as the guy who is one of my heroes, who raises horses and who does horse therapy as one of his sidelines). She is now my wife's boss, a professional psychologist, basically runs the day-treatment school and is an Absolute Authority On All Things Relating To Troubled Children.
So we called this woman over to witness a child's meltdown. The main reason was that we wanted to provide her a professional opportunity to witness dysfunction in action. It was only a side benefit that she could soothe us, calm our nerves, tell us that we in fact after all
weren't the root of all evil in the world and in general keep us from running screaming from the fostering scene.
In the aftermath, I have nothing left that I want to write except the following letter. It is a private letter to "Celeste", but there are very few things in my life that I actually keep really private, so I'll let you peek in like the disgusting voyeurs that I know you all are.
"Celeste":
You were very upset tonight. I know that. I have come to know a lot about you. I also know that that makes you very uncomfortable, and I'm sorry about that.
But girl, that's all part of the whole process.
You see, when you came to us, you had had some truly
vicious things happen to you in your life. No, I
don't know the particulars of everything that went on before...but I've had enough dealings with other people in your position then that I can guess more accurately than maybe you would give me credit for.
I know you're a smart girl. I know you're a pretty girl. I love you. I love fighting off the boys that chase you. Sometimes I even love your temper tantrums. Tonight is not one of those times, though.
I've told you many times that you'll never escape us, and I meant it, though maybe not in the exact sense that you thought. Oh, we'll keep you in our house as long as we reasonably can...but just as you suspected, you
can ruin our lives to the point that we'll let you go if you try hard enough. You can do that until you end up in the state or federal penitentiary system, if you try
that hard. Even then, you might be able to get them to ship you around from cinder block hotel to iron bar motel if you try hard enough.
The thing is, you're a smart girl. Why are you striving for these places? One of your favorite sayings, at least to spew in the faces of me and the woman I love, is "I don't care". The real question is, why don't you care? What don't you care
about? I've tried many times to ask you these questions, and you just get agitated to the point where I never get a real answer and end up declining to defend myself against one false (and sometimes even true, like when I "accused" you of having tried to burn yourself) accusation or another. But you never answer the question.
And I know you are not likely to answer those kinds of questions to me. You don't consider me a legitimate authority over you, and I can live with that. I don't necessarily consider myself a legitimate authority over
myself sometimes. But I've also lived a lot longer than you. Almost three times as long...and the most growing I did was in my 30s, which lie in your future...if I can convince you to hang around that long, anyway. Compared to you, I have
wisdom. And I'm pleading with you to please answer those questions for
yourself, girl. Whether you ever tell me or anybody else the answers, at least think about it long enough to give the answers to
yourself.
I know whereof I speak on this issue. I was an unhappily married, rabidly practicing alcoholic at one point in my life. I would never wish the same situation on any human being, much less on a girl that I consider my daughter in spirit, if not in fact. But that's the kind of life you're hell bent for, if you follow your current path.
Life can be such a blessing. You know that. I've seen your eyes light up when you talk about your particularly good friends. I've seen that same light in your eyes when you've spoken of your father, though it's usually followed by immediate clouds then. I've seen the same light when you don't think I'm watching and you're drawing a picture that seems to be turning out especially good. I've seen the same light when you look at my wife sometimes. Why never at me? But that's a selfish consideration, I guess. The problem is, you don't even look at
her like that anymore.
There was a time when you were welcome in our house without precondition (though there were conditions on you remaining here). You'll always be able to come here if life punches you in the gut and you need a little time to recover before you go out to fight again. The problem is, you still have
5 years or so until you even have to try, and you're already floundering, and we don't know how to help. You can't keep on mistreating us like this and expect us to ignore it.
There's a reason we've been telling you so often lately to look in the mirror when you ask us why one or another real or imagined problem is slapping you in the face. We understand that you want to be able to express yourself, but for your own good you're going to have to learn that your freedom to swing your arm freely ends immediately at the tip of the nose of the person standing next to you. The whole world is not going to be awed at your expression of yourself if you break the noses of those around you. They'll be repulsed by your presumption.
And yet...there is real beauty in you, girl. There is the soul of an artist. I don't know if you'll make a profession of it, or if you'll just use it to enrich the lives of those you come to know personally, but you'll use it well. You already do. I once aspired to be a professional actor, and you have much more talent than I ever had. But I came in my life to a point where now I spend a lot of my time, money and effort supporting young people like you who will go on to bigger things. If I can turn my own teenage rages, desires and drives to a productive direction, I know you can eventually too.
So what will it be, wild girl? I think you love me, deep down inside, though you've never said as much to my face. That would be showing "weakness" after all, right? But whether or not you love me, I'm telling you right now that your best shot in life is to trust me when I tell you that it's best you don't see this person or that. I'm telling you it's you're best shot that even if you don't agree, you just submit, or even argue mildly rather than in my face as your natural instinct seems to be.
Because I'm telling you right now that my spirit is wild, too. Just like yours. If you engage me in a heated argument, I'm likely to respond in kind, and that will harden my heart against what you want. I'm pretty stubborn, too. Just like you.
On the other hand, if you see my jaw set, and I give you a challenging glare, your best course is to soften your look. I guarantee that's the best way to win me over. Give in a little. I guarantee I'll meet you halfway, if not immediately then before very long.
I can be played like a fiddle and be left happy that you did so. All I need to know is that you are, overall, happy, healthy and progressing toward a life where you might be able to help others someday. Then you'll become the favored daughter that I know you long to be.
But right now it's nasty between us, and I KNOW I've had very little hand in that. The ball is in your court, girl. Yes, you can probably get yourself sent away from this house...for a time. But I have it on good authority that you won't go anywhere you'll have fond memories of, and you'll be back here when the bad part is over. Then you'll just have to start over, but with people who
know the kind of crap you're capable of.
And then we'll continue to love you like we have all along, only we'll have lost a lot of time.
You remember the time I called you on the carpet (in the park, at the church group gathering where you made me leave my volleyball game early) last summer a few weeks after you arrived here and I gave you the ultimatum to decide whether you wanted to be here, and if you didn't then you'd better let me know right then? You said yes, you wanted to be here. I took you at your word. There's no turning back. From that moment, I loved you, though maybe you didn't think so at the time and maybe don't even now.
Even if you finally succeed in leaving here forever somehow, you'll never be able to change the love we have for you. Someday I truly hope you come to understand that completely. And I really hope that when you do, you let us know.
Dan
PS. I love you girl. I only repeat it because I know you haven't believed it any of the other times I've told you, and maybe just this one more time will drive it home.
Labels: "Celeste"
Gotcha
"Celeste" has been a real pill lately. Unknowingly following in "Josie's" footsteps, she decided that it would be just a peachy-keen idea the other day to pierce her tongue. She has since been disabused of that notion.
Likewise the notion that she should assume that because she's walking with her new boyfriend, limits on walk time are magically erased (she usually is allowed 20 minutes...MAYBE 1/2 hour, and they took nearly an hour and a half).
Likewise the notion that she should feel free, while out on such a walk with her boyfriend who we've just started to get to know, to stop in at a friend's house. When I was around 19 or 20, I too took a girlfriend to a friend's house...it wasn't very innocent. And at 13, she is (in matters such as this) about what I was at 25. No dice, little girl, and playing dumb won't save you anymore now that we know you're probably at least as smart as us (except with regard to things like wisdom and common sense, of course).
I wasn't aware, but apparently her new day-treatment school--the very same one where The Wife is not working--intrudes into her life more than I had thought, and is wonderfully helpful in keeping her youthful exuberance tamped down, or at least pointed in a direction where it won't hurt anybody. She spent today in in-school suspension. This sounds to me essentially like an all-day study hall, which is something that would be guaranteed to piss her off but good.
And as if on cue, as she got in the van with The Wife to head home at day's end, she decided to vent her frustration:
"Celeste:" "Thanks for the day of ISS!
The Wife: Just a second...(flips down visor with mirror on the back to reflect her innocent young face back to her)...okay, now say that again.
Absolutely priceless. I wish I could have been there.
But you know what? The Wife reports happily that it actually shut her up all the way home. Not only that, but when my time neared to get home from work, "Celeste" asked what was for supper. The Wife asked what "Celeste" was planning to make for supper? "Celeste" replied "I don't know. Let me look." She then proceeded into the kitchen, found some stuff that apparently appealed to her, went back out and suggested that she make that. The Wife (after picking her jaw up off the floor, I imagine) agreed, after which "Celeste" proceeded back to the kitchen and began preparations.
When I got home, supper was on the table with full settings within 10 or 15 minutes. WOW.
I made sure not only to make sure this girl understood that I liked the dinner (which was really quite good) but also that I HUGELY appreciated that she took some of the load off of The Wife. I didn't push it past that because it seems that if you push the compliments too hard her BS detector goes off whether you're trying to feed her any or not, and she just shuts it down. And that's something I'm trying to avoid.
Mom doesn't care for "Celeste" a lot of the time. I think she now likes her better than she used to, but overall I don't think it would hurt Mom's feelings if "Celeste" went back home. Then again, Mom fostered in what seems like a whole other era. Then, maybe 1/4 of the kids had severe psychological problems. Over half of them seemed like kids that could really make a go of it if they just got nurturing, structured support. Mom was very good at providing that, and did it often and well. Better than anyone I've ever seen.
These kids seem...more broken. They need a little more TLC maybe than the kids mom dealt with, and they need someone a little more willing to be abused, a little more willing to look for the good side to them. And they do respond, if you give them a chance. "Celeste" is one of those. "Jill" and "Josie" were definitely NOT. They were both as manipulative as they come, and I suspect they'll both end up in jail or even prison sooner or later (though I still have a massive soft spot for "Josie", God knows why. I won't cry very hard if I never see "Jill" again, as awful as it is to say it.)
I worry about the general trend society at large is taking, though. These kids are starting to come thicker and faster than I've ever seen them. Social workers are burning out. There is now an entire county who we categorically refuse to take referrals from (the same county "Angel" came from, as a matter of fact) because the whole social services system there seems so broken that they don't seem to know or care who is even supposed to be in their care, what those people are doing or what is happening to them. It's hard enough to help fix someone with the right supports, never mind when they decide that they don't have funds after all and we just don't get reimbursed for weeks of good care. Life's too short for THAT, am I right?
But The Wife got off a good one against "Celeste" today, and it seemed to really hit the target. That makes it all worth it. We're learning this thing, bit by bit, and we're helping the kids.
Oh. And thanks for the several private emails I received and the kind comments regarding our adoption situation. It means more than I can really say to know that there are people out there who don't know me at all outside this blog and yet keep us in their thoughts and prayers.
Which just may be working, by the way. The entity known here most frequently as "Auntie J", who would indeed by Auntie J if we are successful in our kidquest, called tonight. She knows someone who's maybe looking for adoptive parents. Finger-crossing exercises shall commence immediately. And, Auntie, if you could just give them a little push, or maybe a clobber over the head if it would help, we'd be most appreciative.
Hard as it sometimes seems, I love my life. Wouldn't trade it, and ESPECIALLY The Wife, for anything at all.
Labels: "Celeste", Adoption
Reply from Mom, Plus Other Stuff....
Okay, first of all, Mom wants me to tone down the whining from my last post. I have to agree with her, so I will.
Second, I need to whine about how the flu took over my house for Christmas. Mom was throwing up, so was Dad, and now so is The Wife. I haven't yet, and I hope I don't because I don't have any sick days left and it would really suck to have to cause a problem at work this close to the end of the year.
Ok. That's out of the way then.
Tonight, "Celeste" opened up to me in a way that she never has yet. She had not yet bought her dad a Christmas present, and I was the nearest male who might know anything about ice fishing. Her dad loves ice fishing. Soooooo...it all went well until we got home again. Then she tried EVERY SINGLE TRICK IN THE BOOK to try to get me to feel sorry for her. No dice...well, not really NO dice. I know how she feels. But I made her understand that I know what she was trying to do to me and that it wouldn't work. Oops. Now she hates me.
Well, not exactly HATES...but those of you who are foster parents, or even just parents, know what I'm talking about now. She hates that I'm on to her, and that I love her.
Hooh, boy, does she hate that I LOVE her. I've decided that I'm going to tell her again and again and again until she stops being uncomfortable with it. Because it's TRUE. I love this girl, and The Wife does too, and there's nothing she can do to change that. Maybe that's what she needs.
Anyway, hope you all had a Merry Christmas. We didn't, really...but then again we did. I had my Mom & Dad with me, and Dad got to play in our basement, and he helped get our brakes fixed. And I got to do some ice fishing. So by any practical measure, I guess we didn't do too bad.
Please wish The Wife a speedy recovery, as she seems to be the last one to shake the vomit-bug.
Labels: "Celeste", Family
Interesting Possibilities
I may have mentioned before that we have a local youth group called Youth For Christ (YFC). We tend to try to funnel our kids to this organization, not because we're trying to stuff our religion down their throats (though religion would do some of them, including "Celeste", a world of good) but mostly because the guy that runs that outfit is OUT OF THIS WORLD GREAT. He has a way with kids that just won't quit. I admire that, and I envy his touch.
But in this case, it's one of the other kids that provides some interesting possibilities for friendship with "Celeste". This girl is one of the older kids in YFC, and she has a pretty special bond with the guy that runs it. She comes from a VERY broken home, and he's a sort of surrogate father to her. It's wonderful to see them together.
Tonight this girl was having a very tough time and "Celeste" and only a couple of others happened to be there this time. They all talked out her issues and "Celeste" got to be in the position to feel some empathy for someone
else who was having trouble with a sucky family situation.
From the time I picked her up she couldn't stop talking about how bad this girl had it. It didn't take a genius to read between the lines of her babbling and see that she had compared this girl's problems to her own and found them equivalent, if not tilted in her favor. Someone else actually might really have it worse than her. Oh sure, those pesky foster parents have told her that several times, but what do they know? Heh. It makes a much bigger impact getting it straight from the horse's mouth.
Anyway, the girl has been on better behavior again the last few days, hence my lack of writing. She readily, if not happily, went to church AND to a special service where there was a pie social afterward. She spoke with her counselor and said she wasn't going to go to school. The counselor told her that was fine, but he would have no choice but to make sure she ended up in court over it. She decided she had had enough of court, and maybe school wasn't so bad after all.
I get the feeling that we've got her fairly well settled in now, and we just need to play good, tight goalie until she stops taking so many pot shots to test our defenses. At that point, we may have created an actual human being, with feelings and everything. Okay, maybe we will just have helped her bring out her better self, but you know what I mean.
Now if the courts will just let us have enough time for that to happen...
Labels: "Celeste"
Intensity
I've had small irritations building up lately with "Celeste", and I made the mistake of not venting them a bit at a time. What happens when you buy a 12-pack of soda while on a long road trip, and then start drinking cans one after the other? Sooner or later, my friend, you WILL be making a pit stop. Tonight was that pit stop for me.
I was in a mildly pissy mood when I got home. I was able to be pleasant to The Wife and greeted "Celeste" and the dogs as usual, but my mind was working through some unresolved problems from work and I was a little distracted. UNTIL..."Celeste" started in on one of her patented never-ending strings of negativity. She decided she didn't like dogs anymore, even Willy. She asked The Wife what was for supper, and when she was told that it was wild rice and turkey soup and that carrots had been withheld to cater to her taste, she LOUDLY pronounced it "gross" and started to put together a sandwich. Everything that was mentioned was "stupid". Blah blah blah.
Finally I had had it, and this little irritated mood of mine rapidly blossomed into something like controlled rage. I started in on her, telling her in no uncertain terms that this was going to stop. Not just tonight, but every night for the rest of her time here. She would treat us with respect, and if she couldn't be grateful to The Wife for the incredible amount she does for her, she would at least be civil. Or she would be sorry.
And I'm not just blowing smoke here, either. No, I'm not going to hit her, or starve her, or anything like that. But I will get in her face from now on every time she cusses and every time she gets negative. She claimed loudly that she was "hardly ever" negative. Well, now I'm just going to do her the favor of pointing out every single negative thing she says. Heh. The honeymoon is over and the gloves are now officially unlaced, if not off. Mom has been saying for some time that we put up with too much from her, and it took me a little longer but I'm right with her now. Never thought I'd see myself on the same side of a parenting question as Mom, but hey, men went to the moon too, am I right?
Anyway, as the discussion progressed and I warmed up, I began to improv and branch out. I riffed on the fact that she feels compelled to write stupid crap on her clothes. I pointed out that while she may or may not be gay, bi, straight or autoerotic for all anybody knows or cares, she doesn't
need to make a huge public production of it. She may feel the need to do so, but then she has to accept that with that decision comes consequences, especially when you live in a basically conservative small town. Fair? Maybe not. So what? Them's the facts. I've got Cystic Fibrosis. Not fair. Didn't do anything to deserve it. So what? Them's the facts.
She went in circles in her logic and I gleefully followed right on her tail, pointing out her inconsistencies and how she had a habit of saying something in one breath and then two breaths later directly contradicting herself. Oh, I
love this stuff. I used to be a political blogger, you know, and what is political blogging if not indulging in childish gotcha games? Yeehaw.
There was a lot of back-and-forth, and I was actually fairly proud of the way I stayed controlled yet firm through most of it. I had to keep reeling her back in as she kept starting to yell and go off on tangents...and I don't know whether it was on purpose to distract from the gaping holes in her arguments or just a result of confusion from having me confront her so directly.
It doesn't really matter, of course. It was a useful exercise/example for her in how to be angry at each other and have a, uh, "spirited discussion", and then walk away from it without any particularly hard feelings.
She also said some pretty revealing things. She outright admitted, as she has other times, that she won't let anybody get close enough to her to hurt her badly. I asked her why she thought The Wife or I would hurt her, and she didn't answer. She can never answer that one. I think she knows we would never hurt her, and she's just scared. I don't blame her...I probably would be too, having the parents she's got.
The Wife had her own interjections from time to time, but a lot of it was just "Celeste" and me , um, "exchanging information". The Wife was most
definitely the good cop to my bad cop this time around.
Finally I just had to repeat myself until she ran out of breath and had to hear me tell her that no matter what she did, how she felt about it, we care about her. Nothing she can do about it. She REALLY doesn't like to hear that, which is why I've said it to her several times over the months she's been here. One of these times one of us (or both) are going to break through this tough-kid exterior. I think we probably already would have made significant progress in that direction except that the social workers are dead-set on getting her back with her family. Her knowing that she could be yanked out of here at any time no matter what we do or want is probably the biggest obstacle to us getting any kind of bond with this girl. And we're so close it almost hurts sometimes.
The best part, and the reason I know she's not still too mad at me, is that awhile ago she got off the internet within 2 minutes of the first time I reminded her that her time was about up.
All your teenagers are belong to us. Mheh.
Oh, and not word on The Wife's job prospect. She felt like she had screwed the pooch on the interview, but here's the thing: she interviewed with three people (all at the same time, if I understood correctly). One of them just so happens to be a foster parent in town that we know very well, whose house we've eaten at regularly and who already knows what The Wife is like. A second one is one of the people at the school that we've had dealings with due to him working with some of our former foster kids (like "Jenny" and "Josie", I believe). He also has a pretty good feel for who she is and her history. The third was the superintendent, and I think it was this one that made her nervous.
She called after the interview and expressed to our fellow foster mom that she hadn't felt well and didn't feel she'd done her best on the interview, but was told that she thought she did fine. She also mentioned that apparently there were a couple of other interviews that
didn't go so well, which bodes well for The Wife's chances. However, it sounded as though there were about 10 applicants, so there is some competition. After hearing the salary, hours, and knowing what benefits are like for government jobs, I can see why. This job could be a HUGE boost to our household income, which wouldn't make me cry.
And now, the Zulus and Spanish have joined forces and declared war on my one flank and the Russians need a hard lesson on the other flank, and I've JUST ABOUT discovered computers so I can build the Seti Program, which should get me to building my spaceship to go to Alpha Centauri in another 50 years or so.
Did I mention I'm a nut for playing Civilization II?
Labels: "Celeste"
Bribery
I have observed "Celeste" in her natural habitat for some time now. I think I understand as well as most what her motivations and desires are. And my own humble opinion is that, of the things I can actually give her, cash ranks right up there.
How convenient. I have a few dollars burning a hole in my pocket. And The Wife attended parent-teacher conferences tonight, learning that while "Celeste" got Bs almost across the board (a couple of B-s and B+s in there) they feel she is certainly capable of As.
Now, I try not to push kids for better scholastic performance than they can do. If a kid just isn't more than a C student, I'm down with that...but I'm also going to torment them until they damn well get their grades up to Cs and keep them there.
I decided shortly after I met "Celeste" that she was probably a thinly-disguised A student, and now we have documentary proof that the pros agree. But how to get her to feel the need to live up to her potential? I've found that nothing works on most kids better than bribery, and with "Celeste" it's a sure thing.
She painted most of a deck for a fairly cheap MP3 player, and did a pretty passable job on most of it. I told her that if she got the grades for her core courses (Math, Science, English and Social Studies) up to As while keeping her other grades at at least Bs, she would receive $10 for each A.
True to her character, she thought about it and then grumped: "I suppose this means I have to start doing things."
Yes, "Celeste." Yes, you do. But in about 5 to 10 years, you'll understand that it's not for me, The Wife, or anybody else except for you. November Fool. You think you're doing it for me because I've got some "stupid hangup" on your grades. My hangup isn't on your grades, it's on your
education. And your character. You're plenty smart, but you need work in those two areas, and if I had a better idea to get you motivated, I'd use it.
I don't. So do you take plastic?
Labels: "Celeste"
Another Submission
Okay, I recently had a story
accepted for publication in a new regional magazine, which is cool. Of course...when somebody encourages behavior that behavior is likely to be repeated. I've submitted the following to the same editor. She had commented that she was looking for shorter stories, so I tried to crop this one a bit:
A little over a year go I had to have my best friend Beau put to sleep. He was a monstrous hound tipping the scale at 160+ pounds in his prime, and had a wonderful coat the color of a deer. I miss him terribly, but there were things I don't miss so much...like the fact that he was occasionally dumber than dirt.
The day I brought Beau home it was a bit of a surprise even to me. I had decided I wanted a big dog--perhaps something like a Great Dane--and called a few animal shelters to see what they had. One said they had a very big boy that might be a Great Dane cross, but they weren't really certain. Good. I like surprises.
I fell in love with "Rex" instantly, and after a short walk and get-acquainted session I announced to my wife that this would be my dog. Being as soft in the head as I am about these things herself, she didn't bat an eye. "Rex" became "Beauregard" as he jumped into the car, and home we went.
Upon arriving home, my wife stayed in the garage with our new friend to straighten some things up while I went outside to help my father-in-law, who was doing something in the yard. Suddenly we heard a remarkably loud scream, followed by what sounded like something crashing in the garage. I ran to see what was the matter. Suddenly the walk-in garage door was forcefully pushed open and out slunk a lumbering--and very guilty-looking--Beau. He stepped across the yard to the fence, where he turned around and sat, apparently immediately forgetting whatever had happened as he broke into a huge, dopey doggie grin..
I noticed that he had something black or brown all over his feet and on one flank. I turned to the garage again. There stood my wife, covered in oil. I should admit at this point that I change the oil in the cars myself, and sometimes I forget to empty the oil pan into a jug. Beau had walked by the pan, seen 4 quarts of oil sitting there, and for reasons known only to him it made sense to grab the pan in his teeth and fling it in the air. It hit my wife and then the wall, dousing both in oil. Maybe he was celebrating his new home.
A dog nearly died at the hands of a crazed woman that day, but I'm happy to report that he eventually found redemption through being the best dog anybody could hope to know, and spent the rest of his life proving that his first day with us was simply a bad first impression.
It's a great story (I think the long form is better, but requirements are what they are). The fact that it's true: frosting on the cake. The fact that the wife mentioned in the story is my ex: priceless.
Quick "Celeste" update: she went on a "date" Halloween night. So of course, now she has a boyfriend. It's a pity, really. She has the kid's poor dad thinking she's a really, really great girl. Which, of course she is...but not at all the kind of great girl--or at least not in the ways--that he thinks. She has ascertained that the boy is a virgin, and I'm pretty sure she's got her cap set to do something about that.
Now I'm just wondering if I should be warning the Dad. Probably so...but it's just so weird. Usually you're worried that the BOY will seduce the GIRL. Or does that make me a sexist? Probably. So what? So I care about the girl and her effect on the boys she sees, and I'm a little shocked and dismayed that she's promiscuous to the point where even gender isn't a barrier (I worry about her being with girls too, for good reasons). Sue me, call me old fashioned, whatever. Just don't cut off my spaghetti and football on Sundays.
"Melanie" is pretty huge with child these days, and is due any time. We took her to town tonight and bought her dinner and The Wife took her shopping. I think she has adopted The Wife as a semi-official mother/big sister figure, and that seems good to me because she needs somebody like that. It will be hard enough being a mother at her age without a husband or even involved boyfriend, much less doing it completely alone.
Oh, and I'm banished to the basement with Sammy, my parents' cat (they are in Arizona for 2 weeks and he's staying with us) tomorrow. The Wife has organized a baby shower for "Melanie" upstairs, and I don't want to get messed over into all that girly stuff. I may have to go find some guys and smoke some cigars or do some other macho stuff later just to get it off me. How does anybody around here expect me to be a proper cave-dwelling Neanderthal with all this frilly crap happening? Argh.
I love my life.
Heh.
Labels: "Celeste", Writing
Gridiron Gang
I knew there was something I liked about Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. Even when I saw him a few times as a wrestler, there's just something about him that's charismatic as hell. Last weekend The Wife and I had a date and went to the movies, where we took in "The Game Plan", Johnson's latest offering. It was GREAT.
But tonight I'm home alone (ever notice how I usually blog when I'm home alone?) and I had a chance to take in "Gridiron Gang", which I never caught before now. I wouldn't have caught it now, except that Starz is having a free preview weekend and I'm taking full advantage, since I'm not too cheap to get satellite TV but am too cheap to buy a premium package. I guess my tolerance for throwing money away lies somewhere between those two points.
Anyway, Johnson's character is a sort of hard core version of me in the movie. He's in charge of a bunch of gang bangers that are in a sort of reformatory, and he's trying to teach them how to be, you know, actual
people...given the ever-present limited resources and
for sure ever-present bad attitudes on the part of the kids he's trying to reach.
Of course, the ending is the typical formulaic football ending with the game in the balance on the last play and the clock down to zero, yadda yadda yadda. I just really liked the way Johnson played the character. He's dealing with a few of his own issues, which are miniature versions of the issues the kids are dealing with. Sounds familiar. He gets frustrated and sometimes pushes the kids farther than they're ready to be pushed. Sounds familiar. He often comes close to giving up or losing his ability to help them. Sounds familiar.
Sometimes even us hopeless cases need a little inspiration. Thanks, Dwayne.
Anyway, in other news, last Friday a man in our church was killed in a car accident. He was the keyboardist for our church's band and one of the founding members. I heard about it late Friday night. I didn't know him well personally, but I knew him to say hello to and we have many mutual friends as well.
I sent a letter to the editor of the local paper, which ended up getting printed as a guest opinion column. Wow. I'd link to it here, but I suspect that would blow my "cover" even more than I've blown it in some of my various posts. For the same reason I'm hesitant to quote any of it, since that invites any yahoo with a search engine to find out my town, and probably more.
But readers here who have never lived in the country or in a small town most likely don't understand what sort of honor this is. I've had letters printed in the Minneapolis Star/Tribune, and once I had a commentary piece printed there. It's a different sort of honor there...there are probably a thousand people who submit commentary-length pieces every day. To get one printed is pretty cool. Somebody who does this stuff for a living decided I had something to say that people should read! Yay me!
This is a different--but no less spectacular--honor. This man was one of the local sons. Everybody knew him and had good things to say about him. The editor of the local paper is that most specialized of creatures. He's the pulse-taker for a small corner of the world. He's looking for a piece to comemmorate this occasion...one that will speak to people who knew the man and will be a lasting piece that will find its home in scrapbooks and photo albums of those who knew him best. That my words would live on in such places is an honor I'm not sure I deserve, but one I'll gladly accept. That's the sort of thing that drives goons like me to write the things we write, after all.
It also seems to have made me a minor local celebrity-for-a-week. Suddenly it seems that many more people around here know who I am, even if it's just "that guy that wrote the article in the paper". The funeral was quite a spectacle, absolutely filling the high school gym. I showed up about 25 minutes early, and from the time I got there until the service started it seemed I thanked about 50 or 60 people who expressed how they liked it. A couple of people seemed speechless, and could only hug me. That's okay. I work for hugs. Heck, I do this just to get it outside of myself, where it can do less damage to my psyche than if it's bottled up inside for too long and turns rancid, you know?
What else...I've had laryngitis for about 3 weeks or more now, and I finally broke down and went to the doctor. She pronounced my throat to be a reasonable facsimile of "raw hamburger". Apparently it's simple tonsilitis, but "at your age, your body has a tougher time fighting off some infections." AT MY AGE! Is it time to apply for my AARP card yet? Sheesh. Anyway, she prescribed some stuff that has me feeling a bit tired, but I'll take it.
Also..."Celeste" is actually progressing pretty nicely. We're ever-so-slowly gaining her confidence, and last week she let the mask slip a bit and referred to The Wife as "Mom". Heh. Wish I could have been there to see her blush. Remember, we're talking about an ultra-tough super-goth bitch grrrrllll here. Plus, she's developed a delightful habit of sometimes walking up behind me while I'm sitting in my chair watching TV and, without saying a word, just leaning on the top of my head with her arms and watching with me for a few minutes.
Finally, related to the sore throat, I can already feel the medicine working and it was slowly starting to improve anyway. What this means--if past history is any guide--is that there is a short window of time coming up, possibly this weekend yet, when my voice will go through what I think of as the Def Leppard/Bon Jovi stage. For as little as a day and as long as two, my voice will retain that rough edge while my vocal cords are twisted into healing knots and I'll be able to sing the entire contents of Def Leppard's "Pyromania" album and Bon Jovi's "Slippery When Wet" and "New Jersey" albums hitting all the notes except the high ones in "Livin' on a prayer", which nobody but Jon himself can sing properly without ripping their vocal cords a new one.
But all in all, it's all good. I still love my life.
Labels: "Celeste", Writing
