It's been about a decade since I have spent any significant amount of time in New Paltz. Rich moved back to Rockland in late spring/early summer 2004; I've been back a couple of times since, but not for any significant length of time. The last time I was there has to be more than five years ago now.

I had the opportunity to spend some time in the area this past weekend, and while much has changed (some for the better, some not,) it still feels like home. I don't know what it is about that little hippy town, but it's the only place I've really gotten that feeling of, "Yes. This is where I belong."

So. New long-term (perhaps VERY long-term) goal: Move to New Paltz.

"I Want to be Sedated" by the Ramones

Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go
I wanna be sedated
Nothing to do
Nowhere to go
I Wanna be sedated
Just get me to the airport
And put me on a plane
Hurry hurry hurry before I go insane
I can't control my fingers
I can't control my brain
Oh no oh no
Just put me in a wheelchair
And get me to the show
Hurry hurry hurry before I go loco
I can't control my fingers
I can't control my toes
Oh no oh no

( In Which: I Detail All of the Things I Hate About My Current Employer )

Ahhhhhh...I feel better for having let that negativity out. Now I can focus on being positive!

"I Want to be Sedated" by the Ramones

Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go
I wanna be sedated
Nothing to do
Nowhere to go
I Wanna be sedated
Just get me to the airport
And put me on a plane
Hurry hurry hurry before I go insane
I can't control my fingers
I can't control my brain
Oh no oh no
Just put me in a wheelchair
And get me to the show
Hurry hurry hurry before I go loco
I can't control my fingers
I can't control my toes
Oh no oh no

I want to go back to school and get a Master's degree. I'm quite certain of this, deep down in my gut. I'd like to do an online program part-time, at least to start.

The issue is that I don't know what I'd want to get a degree in. I want it to be something I love, but will be worth the time and expense of getting the degree. These days it seems that those two things are mutually exclusive.

I was considering something like a MA in English Literature or a MLS, but I fear if I did either those I would end up right back where I am now: with an expensive, nearly-useless degree, a ton of debt, and no career prospects. (I do have a job now, and it's nice so far. It's just not what I'd want to do for the rest of my life.)

Part of the problem, I suppose, is that I don't really know what my options are, or even how to find out what they are. This relates to one of my major beefs with the education system in the US: you're exposed to a very limited number of potential courses of study during your thirteen years of public education, and then you're expected to pick one and stick with it before your brain has even finished developing. Obviously that's not how it turns out for everyone, but it is the major expectation, and in my experience it doesn't work.

I feel like there's so much out there that I don't know about, so many things that I COULD be good at if I had the chance, but I just don't know where or how to look for them.

I wonder if there's some sort of searchable database where I could plug in criteria and it would spit out potential majors or something like that.

My grandfather, Edwin Preston Parliman, was born on March 31st 1925 in Middletown, New York. He was the oldest of six children. From what I understand his mother was an alcoholic, and would send him to pick dandelions to make wine when he was a little boy. My mother has a photo of him when he was a kid, and I have a very vivid mental image of him toddling through a field picking flowers.

I’m not sure exactly why or when, but my grandfather was sent to live with his aunt when he was a child. She raised him, and though I never had the opportunity to meet her I am very thankful to her for how my grandfather turned out.

Grandpa joined the army right out of high school, I believe, and served in World War II. He never spoke much of his experiences, but I know that he was stationed in Germany and France. I'm also pretty sure that he was in Alaska at some point.

At Thanksgiving dinner a few years ago after perhaps a glass of wine too many, Grandpa mentioned that when he got back from the service everyone was dead and everything was gone. That's not *quite* true, as Auntie was definitely still alive when my mother was a child. Grandpa's siblings were still living, as well.

My grandparents were married on September 11, 1949. Their first child, my mother, was born in February of 1951. My aunt, their second child, was born on what would have been Grandpa's thirtieth birthday. He very generously gifted his birthday to Patti, and so stayed 29 for the rest of his life.

The family lived in Middletown and Queens, before settling in Garnerville. Their daughters graduated from high school in the North Rockland school district.

Grandpa ended up with four grandchildren: Derek, myself, Heather, and my brother Steven. He was a very loving and quirky grandpa, and we all loved him dearly.

I made it to the age of thirty without ever having lost a close family member. (My father's parents passed away before I was old enough to really know them, and I hadn't seen his brother in about a decade when he passed.) I think I should consider myself lucky, but it doesn't feel like a very positive thing.

Grandpa smoked cigarettes for fifty years, more than half of his life. I remember being a small child and bugging him to quit. I was very happy the first time he quit, sad when he started again, and quite pleased when he stopped for good.

Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. Grandpa suffered from COPD for quite some time, and for the past few years needed supplemental oxygen.

The last time I saw him was on Father's Day. He wasn't feeling well, so we brought some leftovers from the cookout at my mother's house to him and Grandma. He definitely wasn't himself, and when we left I told him to feel better, and that I loved him.

A few days later, Mom went to visit and Grandpa was sleeping on the floor in his room. He couldn't get himself up to get into the bed. The next day she called an ambulance to take him to the hospital.

He had pneumonia and a pretty severe UTI. The doctors were hopeful at first, then not, then hospice was discussed, then the doctor said he could still improve, then they were going to take him to hospice, and then....

"Grandpa's gone."

I got the call from my mother at 7AM on July 4th. Independence Day. I think there's some sort of sad irony to be found there. I had a good cry, went back to sleep, and then went to be with my family.

Mom, Aunt Patti, and I took Grandma back to her house. Grandpa's things were everywhere. Mom and Aunt Patti had to find Grandpa's tux to take back to the funeral home. They couldn't find his bow tie at first. Poor Grandma's short term memory is not so good anymore, and she kept forgetting why we were there, and that Grandpa had passed away. It was indescribably difficult to watch her go through that revelation every time she was reminded that he was gone.

Meanwhile, I was barely holding it together. "Why does he need his bow tie?" I thought. "He'll be just as dead if we put him in his cummerbund or his vest, so why does it matter? For chrissakes, he doesn't need shoes!" I kept all of those thoughts and feelings to myself because I didn't want to upset my mother, aunt, or grandmother.

The next day Aunt Patti and I went to Grandma's and cleaned while she relaxed at my mother's house. My dad and Uncle Harold were already there to fix the loose banister that my aunt had discovered the prior day.

I dusted the living room. It took almost an entire box of Swiffer 360's, and it's not perfect, but it got done. The results in the bathroom were similar. Dad did the vacuuming, and then we had to scoot because Grandma wanted to come home.

I had a pretty terrible allergy attack from dusting, and I'm pretty sure the Dust Bunny Mafia has a hit out on me now. It was bad. I took an additional allergy pill when we got back to my mother's house, and I now know that Zyrtec and Alavert DO NOT MIX, even when taken more than twelve hours apart.

The first wake was on Saturday evening. My cousins came in that morning from Wisconsin and Philly. Seeing Grandpa in the coffin was rough. It looked like him, but not like him. He had lost a lot of weight in the hospital.

I gave him one of the cranes I'm folding for my wedding with a little note to him written on the back. Since he won't be able to be there in person, I wanted him to have a little piece of my happy day.

The funeral home was very cold, and the instrumental music they played over the sound system was not helpful. "Somewhere Out There," from An American Tail, Bette Midler's "From a Distance" and "Wind Beneath My Wings" were a few of the ones I recognized. Squeeze my heart just a little harder, why don't you?

After the first wake, Grandma seemed to remember what happened to Grandpa a little better. She said that even though he was quite obviously gone, she still didn't quite believe it, and that she kept thinking he was breathing. This tradition we have of sitting around and staring at our loved ones' dead bodies for a day or two before we bury them is pretty morbid and creepy, don't you think? I tried to keep reminding myself that that was not my grandpa anymore, but it was tough.

Sunday was harder. The veterans did a very moving ceremony during the first viewing. It was absolutely beautiful, and I wish I had been able to get a copy of it. The new minister of our (former?) church showed up as well, and even though he wasn't going to perform the service for Grandpa he offered a prayer. It was his first Sunday in a new church, and it was very nice of him to visit, but I was not impressed with his public speaking skills.

In between viewings we all went back to my mother's house and ate. Steven's girlfriend Kristen and her mother had made penne with vodka sauce and sausage and peppers for us, and there was salad and whatnot. We all ate too much.

During the second viewing the Elks did their ceremony. People just came pouring into the room. It was a very nice ceremony, but I liked the one the veterans did better.

Afterwards it was back to Mom's house again for drinks and snacks. Steve made garlic bread, and broke the microwave in the process. I stayed up way too late, considering the fact that I had to be back at the funeral home at nine thirty the next morning.

The funeral was hard. My mother asked me to do a reading, and of course I said yes. I was given Revelation 21: 1-7, while Heather read Isaiah 40: 1-8, 28-31. Heather barely got through her reading; I managed to hold it together during mine, but I have more public speaking experience. Kristen had advised me not to look up at my mother or grandmother during the reading, so I stayed focused on the piece of paper in front of me.

Reverend Brandt did an excellent job with the service. He addressed my family directly, which I thought was very nice, although he did mistakenly call me Lisa during his prayer for the grandchildren.

There was a point during the service where we could get up and share a memory of Grandpa. My father and uncle both took the opportunity to speak, and I shared the following (modified) quote:

"It's all right, children. Life is made up of meetings and partings. That is the way of it. I am sure that we shall never forget Grandpa, or this first parting that there was among us." That's when I lost it.

We all said our tearful goodbyes to Grandpa, and went to our cars. Grandma didn't want to see him shut in the casket, so we all left before that happened and they carried him out to the hearse.

We followed the hearse over the back roads to the cemetery. It's a nice little historic cemetery for veterans and their families.

We could hear a hawk calling in the distance as we gathered at the side of the grave, and there was a huge dragonfly hovering around us the entire time.

Two servicemen played taps and performed the flag ceremony. Seeing them salute Grandpa's casket was really hard for me. Tears rolled down my face as one of them said, "On behalf of the president of the United States..." and handed my mother the flag. Grandma wanted nothing to do with it.

The ceremony concluded, and we left. No one wanted to stick around to see them put Grandpa in the ground.

We all went to lunch at Gilligan's after, and at the end of the meal those of us who partake in such things did a shot of scotch in memory of Grandpa.

Holidays are going to be hard now. I'm sure it will feel like he's just asleep in the next room.

Back in college, lo these many year ago, I used to write all the time. I wrote stories for D&D games, I wrote stories for classes, I wrote stories in my head about the background and motivations for characters I was portraying in acting classes.

It's been years since I've written with any sort of regularity. There was a lot of life-stuff that sort of got in the way of my creativity, and I just couldn't put myself into stories like I had in the past.

Last week, a very good friend of mine published her first novel. I'm reading it now, and I think it's bloody brilliant. I know she worked long and hard on perfecting her writing, and it shows.

This got me thinking: I miss writing. I miss making up stories, fleshing them out, and giving them a life of their own.

I don't know that I'll ever be good or dedicated enough to become a Real Author, but I do want to start writing again. Maybe I'll put whatever I come up with here. I've already been bitten by an Art of Wishing plot bunny, so maybe you should watch this space for future fanfiction. ;)

On a related note, I was thinking about audiobooks, and I couldn't decide if I would want to record an audiobook for a novel I had written. On the one hand, I would love to actually give characters I had created literal voice, on the other hand, I sound like an eight year old.

Business has not been wonderful in terms of rose selling so far this year. The weather opening weekend wasn't wonderful, and even though Saturday was pretty nice, the weathermen had been predicting THUNDERSTORMS AND DOOM for most of the week, so no one showed up. Sunday was verrah nice, in terms of weather, but the people seemed to forget their wallets at home. Even though I haven't been hitting my personal goal I've still been top seller, so I guess there's that. We have a really nice crew this year; I like all of the people I work with. It's pretty awesome.

This past weekend was one of the strangest I've experienced in quite some time. Saturday, I was petting the macaw (whose name is pronounced like "Gonzo," but with an "ah" at the end,) outside of the animal exhibit. She hopped up on my arm, and I thought, "Hooray! She likes me!" She started giving me soft little parrot kissies, and I thought, "Hooray! I have a new friend!" Then she chomped down on my bottom lip. Hard.

Evidently, parrots do such things to one another in order to show affection. I, however, do not have a beak. I have delicate soft fleshy bits.

Fortunately, my new buddy did not break my skin. I was really hoping that my lip would get all nice and swollen so I could tell people that I had been in a fist fight, and they should see the other guy! Alas, that did not happen. I'm still waiting to see if I get radioactive parrot powers. So far, nothing. I'm going to be *really* annoyed if I went through all that pain for nought.

Sunday, although it was busier, was MUCH slower in terms of sales. It was completely bizarre. I have never had to work that hard for so few sales with that many people there.

At one point, I was standing at the Moon Dancer back carts chatting with some folks, when a rather large individual dressed as Death approached. He was wearing a big red cowl, a skull mask which concealed his entire head inclusive of his eyes, and his nails were painted black. I did my little "fairy defies Death" act, and ran off to try and move some of my stock.

He followed me. Slowly but surely, he followed me until I ran into Knightly Endeavors. The KEGs and I watched him slowly amble past, and I ran off in the other direction.

I didn't think anything of the encounter, figuring it was probably some random patron who was a little bit *too* into playing a character, until later when I heard from Colin that Death had handed him a little note with a time written on it. At this point I decided that Death was probably some kind of creeper, and that security should be given a heads up.

Colin and I went off to find a security guard. He was about ready to beat the everloving snot out of someone. Eventually, we ran into Big Tom on the other side of the faire. We gave him the scoop about Creepy!Death, and he said he'd keep an eye out for him.

Later on, I was in Greenfield Common when I saw Nick over at Matty Groves. I figured I ought to give him a heads up about Creepy!Death as well, so I headed in that direction. As I was walking, I saw Bud Stud Eric making a bee line for him. We arrived at the same time, and as I was telling Nick the story, Eric pointed and said, "Yeah, he's right over there." Nick said he'd keep an eye on him, and I headed over to Lunde's.

Death followed me. Nick followed a ways behind him, but I didn't know that at the time. Eric followed Death. As I arrived at Lunde's a patron purchased a rose from me. During the entire transaction Death loomed over us. The patron kept giving him the side-eye, and called him creepy. Once the patron's money was safely tucked away I ran into Lunde's. Colin came out looking like he was ready to beat someone into the ground. (For the record, he probably could.) I was getting ready to tell Geoff that I was going to run and get security because a fight was fixing to break out when Nick arrived.

I saw Colin being ver stern with Death. I saw Nick being very stern. Then...laughter? WTF? Colin came back into the booth.

"It's OLAF!"

"Excuse me," I said, as I ran out of the booth to kick him in the shin and call him an asshole.

I went back into the booth to retrieve my basket, and Olaf followed me. He lifted his mask, and said, "I was following you because I wanted to buy a rose!" I berated him a bit more for scaring the shit out of me, sold him a rose, and had a good laugh about the whole thing.

Many people were concerned about the situation with Death, so I ran off to allieviate people's fears. As I was relating the story to a group of folks at the Blue Boar, I noticed a certain individual staring at me.

Most of you reading this will know that as Bubbles the Rose Fairy I do not speak, particularly not to drunken patrons. This particular drunken patron shows up about once a year, babbles at me about how pretty I am, how he loves me, how he's a lawyer, how I shoud be with him, etc. I tolerate him, and others like him, because it's generally not worth the trouble to get them to cut it out. I remind them that I'm taken, relieve them of some of those ever-so-heavy dollar bills, and then promptly forget about them. No big deal.

Later on in the day, I saw a family with three small children dressed as Link, Zelda, and a chicken. I immediately decided that the ENTIRE faire needed to learn of their existance, so I ran off towards the Blue Boar to spread the news.

Upon my arrival, I was accosted by the aforementioned drunken patron. By this time, he was WAY past merely drunk, and well into completely smashed. I don't speak drunk fluently, but from what I could tell, he was REALLY angry that he had seen me talking to other people when he's been coming to the faire and seeing me for seven years and I've never spoken to him. Nogga was walking by with Jax just as I was pounced upon by this idiot, so I grabbed him in case I needed an adult. The drunkard was going on and on; I wasn't going to talk to him, but when he started spouting off about how I need a "real man," I'd had enough.

I told him that I've been with my boyfriend a lot longer than he's "known" me, and he is a real man, and I didn't want to listed to any more of his nonsense, so I was going to go do my job. Of course, THAT exchange took about five minutes, because the jackass just would. Not. Shut. Up. Once I got away from him, I boogied on up the hill to the table where Damien and some others were sitting.

I expressed my need for an adult, and we all watched the drunked idiot stumble away with his friends. Kelly Rose informed us that he had just been cut off. Damien decided to run around to all of the pubs and make sure they knew not to serve this particular individual any more booze. I hugged Nogga for being my adult, and went about my business.

Not half an hour later I was approached by Nick, who asked me what happened at the Blue Boar. I told him the story, and he said he'd keep an eye out for the guy. I rounded the corner by Moresca, and lo and behold the nitwit was there with his two friends, harassing ANOTHER girl.

I waved down two other security guards, who had a bit of a chat with the fellow. They asked me if I wanted him thrown out, and I expressed my distinct desire that he not be allowed to imbibe any more alcohol. They told him he could stay as long as he didn't bother anyone any more, especially me.

He didn't so much as look in my direction for the rest of the day, but all of the craziness completely threw off my mojo. I feel like with the crowd we had, I should have had much better sales. I also completely forgot that I was supposed to be alerting everyone to the presence of Luke, Zelda, and the chicken until after they had gone.

Going out to dinner with good friends made me feel loads better. Getting free scones from the Chocolate Cafe on the way out of faire was also a bonus, even though Trouble Kitten 5000, aka Puck, found them in my basket at some point during the night and made quite the mess in our dining room.

I am still processing photos from our trip to Salem and Boston at the beginning of the month. While it's true that I took a lot of photos, I'm taking my time and doing a super-nice job with the processing because I want to have them done up into a nice little photo book.

Believe it or not, this was Rich and my first vacation alone together. It was splendid! We got to relax, and we also saw pretty much everything we wanted to see while we were there. It wasn't a terribly expensive trip, altough we *may* have done a bit too much shopping. Seeing as how it was also our first vacation in five years, I can't really blame us. We've decided that we're definitely going to make the effort to do this more often, even if it's just for a long weekend. We both came home positively rejuvenated. Totally worth it.

Oberon and Puck stayed with my parents while we were away. Puck got to play with my mother's iPad; Obi was more interested in watching/hissing at the birds and squirrels. My father, who has been a vocal cat-disliker since I can remember, encouraged Obi to snuggle with him on the bed while he was reading. Unfortunately, Obi's purr was too loud for Dad to handle at sleepytime, so Dad scooped him up and plopped him into his kitty bed in my old bedroom. (Dad said Obi purring sounding too much like Mom snoring.)

My brother, also a cat-disliker, came over for a family barbecue and spent TWO HOURS playing with Puck. I believe he is now considering getting a kitty of his own. ;)

Now that the boys have settled back in at home, they get along a little bit better every day. Puck is learning that if he asks Obi to play and is refused, the appropriate response is NOT to ask harder. He doesn't get it every time, but sometimes is ok for now.

Oberon is learning about bedtime cuddles. We think his last family never let him in the bed, so this is all very new to him. Recently he's been trying to kill the lumpy things under the sheets, i.e. me and Rich. I have a little tooth-shaped bruise on my thigh to show for it. Last night he seemed to get it, since there was much cuddling, no biting, and a minimal amount of pouncing.

Dinnertime in our house is always exciting now. Oberon sits quietly and patiently, while Puck FREAKS OUT. He cries like he hasn't eaten in DAYS, and recently has started attempting to jump to where the food is being prepared. I see this becoming a problem relatively soon, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I have video of the dinner-freak-out ritual, which I'll be posting on YouTube as soon as I get it edited. I also want to get video of Puck playing purrito with a large sheet of tissue paper. SO CUTE!

Anyway, aside from work stuff, that's what's going on in my world right now. How are you?

The kitties got along marginally better yesterday. There was some hissing on Oberon's part, and he did need to be given two time-outs in the bathroom for swatting, but they had dinner together in the kitchen, and things seemed to be getting a little better.

Puck peed on Rich's foot yesterday morning. I'm not sure what kind of litter they had in their foster home, but I think it was different enough from the Feline Pine we use that there's some confusion regarding the litterboxes. Oberon also had a couple of accidents when he first came home, so I wasn't terribly concerned.

This morning I gave both kitties their breakfast kibble in the kitchen. Everything seemed to be going fine. Oberon hissed and swatted at Puck when Puck tried to eat from Obi's food bowl while Obi was eating from it, but I let that go because he was just protecting his food. Puck has his own bowl, after all.

I sat on the couch to eat my bowl of cereal, and Obi came in to keep me company as he usually does. Puck was walking around crying his little heart out and sniffing the ground. I put my bowl of cereal on the arm of the couch, scooped up the kitten, and took him to the litterbox in the library. It took a few minutes of sniffing and pawing the litter, but he did his business. As I was heaping praise upon him, I heard the sound of a spoon clinking against a cereal bowl.

Upon my return to the living room I discovered Oberon standing on the couch next to my cereal bowl, which was completely devoid of milk! The cereal itself hadn't been touched, but the milk was gone, and someone was licking his chops.

I scolded the kitty, and went to the kitchen to get a fresh bowl of cereal. As I returned to the living room, Oberon puked. Twice.

Since I still had to finish my breakfast and get to work, I woke Rich up. We came downstairs to find Puck trying to decide if Obi-puke is tasty.

Rich cleaned, I scarfed my cereal, and made it to work (mostly) on time.

Now we know not to leave bowls of cereal unattended around Oberon.