chassit

You know, thinking back on this year, thinking about the adventures and the trips, and the good and bad...

Well, it wasn't that bad of a year at all. I really liked it.

Here's to hoping this next year will be as awesome as the latter half of this one!

HAPPY NEW YEAR'S, EVERYONE!

Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone! I had a pretty awesome christmas - very steampunky! I got a lovely necklace, and a steampunk ring that's also a flashlight, and a steampunk sloth, and a nice little fake-pocket-watch. The maker wrote a little story about it - it's a 'paradox detector' and if I should be caught in a paradox, it will help me get out. I approve of this.

I hope everyone has had a really wonderful day.

So, I'm back from vacation. Yesterday I spent getting my brain back together from the trip, but now I'm good. I wrote this in 750 words about it - I'm gonna split the days into two posts, since they got long.

( Day 1 of CHATTANOOGA. )

Okay. Lately I haven't known what to put in here, but I think I have an idea now. Life has been boring, but I'm gonna go to CHATTANOOGA TENNESSEE soon (and if you're near there, pop by and say hi!) and I have an idea.

I am going to be doing a liveblog of this 'Homestuck' comic thing. My reactions shall be put on here and my other blogs. (Tumblr, Dreamwidth, Livejournal.)

I shall put my reactions up SOON.

Turkeys are either the bravest or dumbest birds in the world.

Today Mom spotted one in the field behind our house. I looked outside - there is a giant turkey in the backyard. For a second we weren't sure we had anything to give him, but after a quick search, there was some old bread in the kitchen.

I go out there, sure that it's gonna run. Oh yes, it ran. TO ME. It came right up to me and I gave it some bread, and after I gave it some bread it just chilled out. Mom was at the window and waved at me, giving me the 'come inside now, kid' gesture.

So I start walking back to the house. Mom points behind me. I turn around.

THE TURKEY WAS FOLLOWING ME.

I went inside and it eventually turned around, went back to the field. That was probably the most excitement I had today. I was close enough to touch him if I had gotten a little closer.

The Girl Who Was A Wolf.

by Melinda Curley.

( This happened three years ago, but my memories of her are still vivid. I can still feel how cold it was that night, I can still smell her. Please do not think I’m simply making this up - but even if I was, there would be truth in it. )

Last Tuesday, the day after the fourth of July, it was hot and dry and I stood outside a house full of mourners, with the taste of watery lemonade lingering in my mouth.

Here's the backstory.

On Friday, I was volunteering at the nursing home. I went to sign in and get my vest on, and above the sign in sheet was a notice - a family wanted to thank everyone who took care of their mother, and people who helped were more than welcome to come by. For a second I didn't recognize the name, but then it hit me. I knew the lady - I had intended to visit her that day.

I got my vest on and I asked another person what happened. They said she had passed away a few days earlier, in the afternoon. She was in no pain. Somehow I kept myself from breaking down. I was rather proud of myself, actually.

I went to visit a resident that I know - Alice, she's been mentioned before - and then I cried. I used up a couple of tissues and Alice gave me a hug. She understood. She had no problem with me getting a few tears out there. At least that way none of the staff saw me crying, and I didn't bother anyone else. (I'm pretty sure Grandma has it instilled in the person who picks and runs volunteering that, if I started to cry or get frazzled, to call her up instantly. I wouldn't put it past her.)

Mom picked me up after a bit, but I still thought about the woman who passed away - her name was Leona, and she was very sweet. I had met one of her daughters once, and she probably wouldn't recognize me, but it still felt like I should go and give my condolences.

It took a lot of poking and prodding and begging. Mom didn't want me to impose. Grandma didn't want me to bug them. All I asked for was fifteen minutes.

Mom finally gave in and let me go there. It said that visitors could come from three to six, and we had about fifteen minutes until then. On the way there, we passed a Lemonade Stand run by two young girls - I think we were their first and only buyers, since they were incredibly excited when I came over to buy some.

The fifteen minutes passed, and Mom pulled into the driveway. I could see two doors - one at the front, one at the side. Mom said to go to the one at the side, first.

There was a doorbell there, and I rang it. I stood there, awkward and nervous. I wondered if I should have just stayed home.

The fact was that while I knew Leona, I didn't know her well. I knew she used to be a teacher. I knew she was Jewish. I know she was terribly excited to watch the royal wedding. I knew she had this little silver tiara she loved to wear. I knew she liked to hold hands, and she was very good at it.

She didn't talk much, or at least very well - once you've been there long enough, you can tell which residents are fading and how they are. Sometimes they can't talk as well, but they're still almost all there. Sometimes it's almost violent - they yell and threaten. I've only seen one lady like that, however.

But I sat with her, and I held her hand, and sometimes we talked and sometimes we watched some TV. I think she liked Don't Forget The Lyrics!

I stood there and nobody came to that door - but I heard Mom saying "Melinda! The front door!"

I scampered over to the steps and up them. I started to introduce myself - my name, and then the lady's eyes lit up and she told me to come inside. She then asked Mom - Mom said sure.

She ushered me inside and gave me a tight hug. She said that hugging me was like hugging her Mom again.

I can't make that up, and I wouldn't.

She introduced me to people - first my name and then as 'a volunteer at the home' and told people that I sat with Leona a lot. She told me thank you, for sitting with her mother. It had gotten hard, seeing her fade, and she said that she'd seen me with the residents and how good I was with them.

She showed me needlepoints Leona did - full of color and shading and detail. A store front. A person sitting under a tree. A bridge with water under it.

She also said she apologized if her mother said anything impolite or such - but really, nothing she said or did made me think that. She was always nice to me - one of the reasons I liked talking with her.

I told her that I wasn't sure if I should come, but it felt right - she told me to trust my intuition more. She gave me another hug, and soon after Mom came and collected me.

I wish I had some way to wrap this up. Some important and impressive thing to say. But I don't. So -

Goodnight, Leona Perelman.

So, because this is cute and not involving me thinking about myself and stuff like that, I have a new post!

Yesterday, I saw two rabbits get married.

That is exactly what it sounds like - a wedding was thrown for two rabbits. This happened at the Lutheran home - I'd heard about it for a while, and I was all "Mom, you have to let me go to see this" and we wrangled it so that I could go.

It took place at two o' clock, and I got a few of my friends to come and see it. The dining room had pretty white table cloths on it and on the floor, there was a long white sheet and a little 'altar' of flowers. I was dying of cute before it even began.

People started filing into the dining room before it started, and some pretty, large floppy hats were given out. And some people had signs on them, like "Disapproving Mother-In-Law" and "Always cries at weddings" and on a stuffed, toy rabbit "Ricco's Jealous Ex."

Eventually, the wedding began. A flower girl dropped some fake petals, the ringbearer tried picking them up, the bridesmaids came down the aisles, and the therapy dog (with a pair of bunny ears) came down the aisle too, with a long suffering expression.

And then, of course, the bunnies got married - the pastor said the vows and when it came time for them to kiss, the owners gently put the rabbits noses together.

And yeah, there was a reception. There was carrot cake after it all, and the song 'Do the Bunny-hop' played, and yes, it was absolutely adorable.

You can always use a little weirdness in your life. I figured attending a bunny-wedding would help my quota.

So - all of the regular readers of my journal know that my Grandpa's in a nursing home for physical therapy right now, and most people that know me know I'm volunteering there. I figured it'd be an interesting enough post, and some people actually wanted to hear about it, so here we go!

When Grandpa first moved in there, the first time we went and stayed with him, I told Grandpa, Mom and Grandma that my legs were getting twitchy, so I was going to go for a walk to get a decent understanding of where everything was. Grandma told me not to bug anybody, and Mom told me to keep my phone on me, and I said yes to both but didn't quite follow the first one word for word.

So I got to stretch my legs and I figured out where everything was at, basically. The Lutheran home has one long hallway that branches out into others, with a nurse's station at the 'crossroads'. There's a large, lush green dining room with a piano, and there's a sitting room with a TV, as well as one that's connected to a little courtyard and has a swinging bench in it. In the room with the swinging bench there's beautiful dollhouses, and there's a stunningly beautiful bird cage - made of wood and glass, with little songbirds and a couple of doves. (Recently, a couple of birds had babies. I got to see three little fuzzy heads sticking out of a nest and begging for food, which they got.)

I got to the very front of the home, where most visitors enter, and saw a lady in a wheelchair next to the nursing station. She spotted me and asked "Do you work here?"

"Uh, no. What do you need?" I asked, completely breaking the promise into a thousand little shards, although she was the person who talked to me first.

"All I need is a push to the TV room. Can you do that for me?"

There were no nurses around at that time, and I figured I could do that and not get in too much trouble. So I took the handles of the wheelchair and we went along, talking a little bit. I told her my name, she told me her name was Alice. We went to a couple of different rooms, and we went to the TV room and sat down. One of the ladies there (who I guessed - correctly - worked there) looked at me after we said hi and said "Are you a relation of hers?"

My response was as follows: "... Uh. I can be if it gets me out of trouble."

After a few minutes of giggling, another employee said "You know, I think you'd make a good volunteer."

Before I left, I said I'd ask Mom about it, and I did - Mom and Grandma said they didn't have a problem with it, so the next time I went I picked up a sign up sheet and I filled everything out. After that I had a snazzy red vest with "Volunteer" on the back and permission to wander around and talk to people. (I've done more than that, I've helped pick up finished meal trays and helped with Bingo.)

For the most part, it's awesome. I made friends with a lady who's ninety six years old when I was looking for the cat that lived there (yes, they have a cat there. There's a dog that lives with its owner, although I haven't seen the dog in a bit). A lot of the time, we sit and watch Judge Judy and gossip about the people on the show. Also, I have come to the realization that old ladies always think you need to eat something. Some of the ladies really appreciate me hanging out with them, and I guess it makes me feel like I'm making a difference, even if it's not a big one.

And of course, sometimes it sucks. Sometimes a person won't remember you, and you know the reason why. Or you can't understand somebody, and you hate the fact you can't really have a conversation with them because of that. Or hearing a lady say "I want to go home" and threaten to break the fingers of a nurse when they try taking her back to her room (it's worse if you've had a conversation with her when she was lucid, and she said "I just met you and I love you."). Also trying to beat feet past the Casanova of the nursing home without trying to obviously do it is difficult, but hey.

Generally I end up talking to my Mom about my day, because chances are something new will have happened and generally it's good. Sometimes it's a mixed bag.

One day I had dinner with one of my friends, Alice. She said she couldn't eat all of her food, so did I want some? I am not good at saying no, and she was already cutting the sandwich in half. I asked a nurse about it and she said this one time it was okay. (The next time Alice offered me half a sandwich, I was able to turn it down, partly because I told her that I was going to have dinner with my Grandma after we left.)

And then there's days like today, when you hear a lady screaming to be taken home and it's really heartbreaking. But then you meet a lady and you talk with her a little bit, and all she really wants to do is sit and hold your hand and talk about the birds.

So I guess that's my first post on the whole volunteering thing. It won't be my last, but I wanted to get out a good, kinda serious post about it first. I'll probably put up more talking about random encounters, like the one I had with the Casanova of the place. But that's a story for another time.

Last night, after what felt like weeks, I was laying in my own bed again and unable to sleep, again, and the combined tiredness and lack of anything else to do made my thoughts wander. I thought about how I had just managed to get my phoenix badge, something I'd been working at and waiting for forever, which lead to me thinking about writing, which lead to me thinking about the past and the future and myself.

Whenever my Grandma starts telling people that I write stories and such, she brings up how when I was a little kid, before I could even write a long sentence, I'd pace back and forth in the kitchen and she'd write down what I was saying. She'd listen and write for me, and half of those stories I think she kept. Maybe she kept all of them.

Which lead me to thinking about how I had once been unable to type quickly, resorting to a finger-pecking type of writing, a rather slow and painful process. Since I would write long things, it would take forever and be rather annoying during it. I couldn't write as fast as I could think. It was rather annoying, in many respects.

But then I took a computer class, in Monroe Middle School, and if only one good thing came from that place, it was that typing. I began learning how to properly put your fingers, and how to look at the screen and not the keyboard and to just trust my fingers. I learned that the J and F keys had the little bumps on them, and those were my two steering wheels. I finally managed to play the keyboard like a pianist. It was wonderful.

So Mom told me about a word program and I found it, and pulled it up, and soon I was typing. A lot. Most of the stories never were finished, maybe never will be finished, and perhaps the characters have changed their faces and names and hide in new, other stories of mine. I wouldn't doubt it - they were very clever characters, and sometimes I am a very stupid writer.

But I wrote, and wrote and wrote and read, and sometimes my resolve would waver. But one thing remained - I wanted to write. I wanted to be a writer. I was afraid I'd lose my stories, so I'd start another one as soon as it came to me, but now I know differently.

I was thinking about one day, when I was working on a story, maybe one of the few that got half-finished, and I remembered the enthusiasm I had as I wrote. It got to the point that I felt like I was flying. I was grinning the entire time.

So I laid in bed, eight or nine years later, wondering about that girl. Has she died, and like Clive Barker says, is but a tombstone now, or is she still there, running and laughing in the forests of my mind? Has she turned into a bird and spread her wings, flying away from me in search of some new person to roost in? Or is it more than that? Maybe a part of her still clings to me, a droplet of idea from a sea of stories.

It made me think, as well, of a town Mom and I went through when we were going to Traverse City. A small town, the main street looked a little like Monroe's downtown, maybe when it had been more alive. It was by a large river, and we were waved at by a person. And it made me wonder if I'd ever see it again, if the town was still well, who else had passed through it, who had waved at me. If they were well.

And I had the thought of just growing wings, of feathers bursting from all my body and my feet turning to claws and shape shifting into a falcon and just flying, flying over the town and all over America and finding towns and cities and all those places that so many people don't get to see. I would fly until I'd seen it all, flown down every highway with nothing to stop me, until I made it back to Monroe.

But then I still wouldn't be content, and I'd have to see every one of my favorite places as a human, and still, I would have to travel all my life, and every last second of it I'd be happy, knowing I was free.

I don't know why that one line of thought lead to the other, but as I was in bed, dog next to my legs and snoring peacefully, cats on either side of me and quiet as shadows, I felt like I could almost feel it, almost feel wind under wings and laughter as I didn't have to stay in one place, not any more.

Maybe that's what happened to that girl, the girl I was eight or nine years ago. Maybe a little piece of me broke free and grew wings, laughing as she did it, and flew and flew and is still flying.

Maybe one day I'll catch up with her.