I am not sure how to explain all of this but I will try to tie up the clues from yesterday.

1. Yes, it was Linda trying to get my attention. All of the signals were there.

2.  Pink roses are a sign that God requires our cooperation in using our ‘gifts’ or helping others to use theirs.

3.  Haley-O’s comment mentioned that Linda ” needs someone who understands and believes in signs “. Through a friend, I found her. This person stated that she wasn’t sure she still believed that “spirit reading” was somethng she still wanted to pursue. She was having doubts about where it stood in regards to her religion. But she was willing to listen for me. Before she read the post, she had googled images of autumn leaves. Then she found out that leaves were on my blouse and that was her sign to help.

4. Through emails, I had mentioned that I understood her reluctance, but I mentioned that God wouldn’t have given her a gift if He didn’t want her to use it. (Linda was a former nun, which kindof tied in religion)She envisioned had a religious image which was a parallel to a picture that Linda had drawn and displayed in her home.

5.  Linda loved attention and I thought that she just wanted me to write about her. This friend had an image of ’shearing’ which is a term used in metalwork (metalmom?) Linda had also done web designs so I feel that the post was meant to be.

6.   There were other clues that came out during our ‘talk’- some obscure but others more obvious. It would take a much longer post to try to explain it. Some things tied into my life but most actually related to my friend’s personal life specifically. (This is why alot of this sounds fuzzy to you. I am protecting her personal details)

7.  After telling my friend about ‘God wanting her to use her gift’, I felt the first peace I had all day. It felt like the message had been passed. I was so very calm internally. My friend was also feeling as though she had received a message.

I realize that not everyone out there is a believer in stuff like this. I, however, do believe, as I was raised hearing stories relating to ‘visits’ from family members. None of us are psychic and we don’t need to be in order to listen to what is being revealed to us.

Sometimes it pays to open your heart, mind and soul. You never know who will be touched by what you hear.

If you are into ’spirit visits’, ‘afterlife messages’, and other such communications, I hope you can help me out.

My friend Linda passed away roughly five years ago. I had met her through my friend Lostmahead, and had taken care of her as a home health aide for three years. When you wipe someone’s butt, you become fairly good friends.

Shortly before she died, her husband died. We all saw both events coming from a mile away. Anyway, when Linda passed, Lostmahead and I helped her daughters clean out the house to get it ready for sale. We were welcome to take anything that the family no longer wanted and the rest went to the Salvation Army.

I took a few articles of clothing (she had great t-shirts and sweat shirts so I took a lot of those) I also have a vase with pink roses on it (she LOVED roses), a large viney plant, and a few other items.

Lostmahead recently gave me a serving platter with pink roses on it and my first thought was that it matched the vase. It has been sitting on my dining room table because I must clean the china cabinet and find room for it. Therefore I see it frequently. Not only that, I bought a pink candle that I thought was pink grapefruit scented but it turned out to be roses. (Not something I would have bought.) It also sits on the table.

This has kept Linda in the forefront of my thoughts. Growing up, my mom always said that if you think of someone or dream of someone who has passed, they need your prayers. So I dutifully said a few for Linda.

Then today, while I was looking for something warmer to wear, I came across a few sweaters of hers. I set them aside. I quickly grabbed a pair of sweats out of my drawer to take out Bandit and they had been hers. Linda was notorious for being cold- even on the hottest days. I kind of laughed to myself and thought “Gee. This must be some kind of message.” and I continued my day.

I leaned over a chair to straighten the cover and my hair got caught on the plant. Tugging my hair was something Linda would do to me when I helped to pull on her socks. Now I was freaked and out loud I said, “Linda, if you have something to say to me, just say it! Stop fucking around!”

I took my shower and dressed and only afterwards, as I tried to figure out her message, did I realize that I was wearing a pair of knee high socks that were hers and a turtleneck shirt with autumn leaves on it.  All of this was unintentional on my part

How do I figure out the message? It must be something big for her to beat me over the head with so many coincidences all in one day. I’m usually open to this kind of stuff and this isn’t the first time I’ve heard from her, just the first time it’s come through like a train all in one day like this.

This is driving me crazy, so if you have any ideas on how to deal with this, let me know!! PLEASE!!

Today’s someone’s birthday

Now here’s your invite

To give her some wishes

Just visit her site.

I’ll drink to her health

So much that I’ll hurl

So I’d better say now,

“Happy Birthday, Libragirl!”

I have mentioned before that I love horror movies - all different kinds, from the ones with monsters, to aliens, to slashers, and beyond. But I have never told you where this love came from.

 It began with a night of drinking.  Not me, my parents.

My mom and dad would go out occasionally with Dad’s friend Ray and his wife. The night out usually consisted of dinner somewhere in town (most likely Chinatown) and ended when they returned because of the babysitter. Not wanting the night to end, they would stop at Ray’s and pick up his movie projector.

Dad would whisk the babysitter home, mom would run around looking for a solid white sheet that Ray would hang on the living room wall, and Ray’s wife would order pizza and beer to be delivered.

They would be loud with their plans, and their laughter. Mom would loudly shush them, but they would invariably wake me up.

I was young. Mom says I was only five or six when the movie nights started. I was not allowed up. Once we were sent to bed, there we were supposed to stay and back then, you did what you were told. But I was never told not to sneak!

I would lay on my stomach at the top of the stairs and slowly lower myself down one, two and maybe three steps. Just far enough to see the sheet. Dad would return and then I’d hear the low clatter of the reel-to-reel projector begin.

The sheet would be filled with wonderful images in black and white. Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi! The Creature From the Black Lagoon. The Mummy. Frankenstein. Dracula. I was so scared. I would quickly rush back to my room if I heard anyone head to the bathroom. Pretending to sleep, I lay in the dark, impatient  to return to the horror  waiting below.

When I talked to my parents later on about this, they told me that Dad knew every time. He knew and never said a word to Mom. As soon as the movie would end, he would jump from his seat and loudly announce that he was heading to the bathroom. This was to give me a chance to get into bed. It was also a chance for him to find me first in case I had fallen asleep!

This was only the beginning of what was to be one of the best gifts from my Dad. On Saturday afternoons, we would watch Dr. Shock’s Monster Theatre. A different movie every week and I was in heaven as I watched raptly, sitting next to my dad. Abbott and Costello Meet the Wolfman, The Haunting, and countless others. We enjoyed this ritual until ”Shocky-Doc” retired. I was in my teens by that time.

Do I love horror movies? Oh yeah….but I love the memories that go along with them even more.

**Just curious…Did anyone out there have a similar character to Dr. Shock on their TV networks?

Just a few things:

*I went to the wedding on Friday night. The bride was gorgeous, the groom was handsome, I had a great time. I wore the print dress (Hubs liked that one alot) I was rewarded for the effort    . Unfortunately, I don’t have pictures of myself, but they do exist for other people.

Don’t they look happy?

*I am now entering the second full week of my Alli diet. So far, so good. No ‘distress’. No starvation. I even found ice cream sandwiches that fulfill the cravings for sweet, chocolate, and cold all at one time! AND….I have lost 6 pounds!!

*The kids have all returned to school- preschool, grade school and high school. I am currently here alone during the day. But as the saying goes, “feast or famine”. I have gotten inquiries from two moms. One with an 8 month old and a two year old and another with twin three year old boys! I wonder if I can handle them all…..although I have learned that the more you have the easier it is to amuse them. I will be interviewing them this week.

So that’s all I’ve got going on over here. I hope every one has a good week!

Every experience in our lives is an opportunity to learn, even a vacation.

I agreed to our trip to Virginia but I wasn’t overly enthusiastic. Son1 had told me about his plans to go with Shenanigan and Jazz long before I had gone to the shore. I was a little annoyed because, as his mom, I wanted to see him put his money into something else. *coughweddingcough*  When he told his dad that he was going, Hubs thought it was a cool idea.

Hubs told me to check into the cost of the hotel where Son1 had already made his reservations. I dragged my feet about it. I made excuses that I was too busy to check things out.

You see, driving the two hours to the shore can be pretty taxing on my back. If I take precautions, I can make the trip with the minimum of discomfort. But if that trip is only two hours, what will happen on a trip that takes five hours? Busch Gardens has coasters. If everyone else went on the rides, what would I  get to do?

History-at least American History- has been drilled into my head since I was a kid. Living outside of Philadelphia as I do, touring historical sites was a staple of class trips. I really didn’t want to go and walk all day in the heat and see more of it.

But I finally relented. I would go for my husband, who for a change was excited about the prospect of the trip. I told myself that “At least it would be something different“.

Then  there was the Four Tops. This would be another chance for me to be a  martyr for my husband’s happiness. I would go and pretend to have a good time.

But somewhere along the way, I learned something.

If I would just relax and give things a chance I might be surprised.

Hubs graciously agreed to make frequent stops while driving so that I could stretch my back. This made the trip pleasant. As for the trip through history, I was so busy hoping that it wouldn’t rain on us, that I forgot to bitch about the heat and my aching feet. As long as I took the precautions and was careful about the rides I went on, I could ride just like everyone else. And if I would just open my mind a wee bit, I might enjoy the music and dance.

So I learned that *gasp!* it isn’t always gonna be about me.

Sometimes I’ll have to take one for the team. But it’s up to me to make it a home run.

I have a wedding to go to soon. September 5th to be exact. While I am happy for the bride and groom, and the chance to get out with Hubs, I have also been dreading it. Why?

I have to dress “nice”.

I am a jeans and tee shirt girl. I also like sweats. But Metalmom + dresses = hot mess. Usually. I got lucky. This time it won’t be a pitiful sight.

My BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD came through for me.

We had planned on dress shopping today. It was a job I dreaded with every atom in my body. I was prepared for disappointment, anger and depression. Instead, when she picked me up, we stopped back at her house to pick up her daughter. “Hey, why don’t you try on the dress I wore to  my nephew’s wedding?” she asked.  Usually this trick doesn’t work. She likes her dresses long and I like mine short. (Hey, I have great legs! I like to show ‘em off!)  She likes browns, tans, and black. I like reds, blues, and even yellow.  She will cover up as much as possible and I will show it all off. We don’t normally agree.

Well, if you knew her, you’d know that we weren’t going to get out of the house until I humored her and tried it on. So we went to her room. She searched the closet for the black dress (I was only marginally interested. I knew it was sexy, but I didn’t think it would fit me.) Guess what? IT DID!!!!  Not only that, but she pulled out another dress for me to try on for shits and giggles. THAT FIT TOO!!

So now I have two dresses to choose from. Yay!

Plus! Just so we didn’t waste the rest of the afternoon, we went to the mall anyway and I found shoes! And other things to wear with the dress (underwear) I was more than happy because I didn’t have to try everything on for her approval.  She is a girly-girl who likes to shop. She loves to try on and she loves to see what I try on. She will go to a bazillion stores just to see what her options are. Not me. So I was blessed that I didn’t have to shop in eight different stores because I “might find something better in store three or five”. I went into store one, found shoes, bought ‘em and walked out. I went into the next store, found a bra that I liked - in my size!- and again, I walked out.

Done! Just like that!

That kind of shit never happens to me. It may take a month of constant searching for me to find something that I can tolerate putting on let alone wear into the public eye. It is a rare thing to find an entire outfit with the minimum of aggravation. You ladies know what I’m talking about.

She’s coming over tomorrow so that she can see the whole shebang. You know, the dress, the shoes, the foundations…. I’ll put them on. Not to humor her this time. This time I’ll try them on like a fashion show so that she can help me choose. Maybe I’ll let her take pictures and I’ll let you guys help me too.

Hmmm…there’s an ideer!

I got a new vacuum.

It’s about freaking time too. About 15 years ago, a friend gave me his old one when he….um…was ‘going away’ for an extended ‘vacation’. Since he wouldn’t need an apartment, he gave away alot of his belongings. Since my own vacuum was a piece of shit, I was hella happy to get his!

After many years of use and abuse, the vacuum was shot. The bag no longer zipped shut. The bristles of the beater bar were damn near non-existent. The creamy beige color? Uh, was that beige at some time? You’d never know it now.

Last summer, Hubs the Benevolent got me a new one. Actually, we got it at a liquidators. (This translates into refurbished and reboxed) I loved it. It had attachments that the old vac lacked. I could reach the top of draperies –not that I did, but I could if I wanted to. I never knew how much suction the old one had lost. Now, I only vacuumed half of my downstairs before the dirt canister needed to be emptied! Not only that, but the beater bar needed cleaning right away.

You see, Metalmom and Babygirl both have long hair. Babygirl’s friends and Son1’s girlfriend all have long hair. This means that it ends up EVERYWHERE no matter how dilligently we try to keep it in the bathroom or the bedrooms.

The first month was the honeymoon. I faithfully took the bar out to untangle the hair that could burn a rotator belt in no time. And then one day…….

I was in a hurry.

I was careless with the bar. While it was off, I managed to lose the ball bearings that help it roll. It no longer worked.     Since it was refurbished, there was no warranty. Since it had been a discontinued model, there were no replacement parts readily available…even from the manufacturers!

So there it sat, in the corner of my room, waiting for ‘Big Trash Day’ when it could be carted away. And that day came and went. But I forgot to put it out. There it sat, mocking me with its glorious attachments. It taunted me with it’s unused power. It reminded me daily of my carelessness.

But I had kept the old vac. I don’t know why, but I did. And it was recalled into service. Only Old Faithful now lacked a certain vitality. Things just weren’t the same between us. He could no longer get the job done. We drifted further and further apart.

Wednesday night, Hubs surprised me and we bought a new one. He’s a handsome devil, I’ll give him that. (The vacuum…..well, Hubs is too, but I’m talking about the vac here!) It is every bit as strong as the other. It’s lines are sleek and younger looking. It came with a warranty! I can get replacement parts easily by calling a toll-free number!

Somehow, I can’t seem to bring myself to put Old Faithful out to the curb. I think I will tuck him into a corner of the basement. Soon, it won’t hurt so much to see him wasting space.

Soon, I’ll be ready to say a permanent goodbye.

It was a hot day in August. Just like most of those days, it was sweltering and extremely humid. But oh, the sun was shining.

I woke up at 6am because it was something I had done for the preceding 4 years. Once I got into the habit, my internal clock didn’t want to be reset. I showered. I ate a bowl of cereal and threw a few things into a bag. I’d be needing them later, because I wasn’t coming back once I left. I putzed around some more, walked our Great Dane, and then got down to business.

After planning for little over a month, I was getting married at noon.

I did my own hair. I put on my own make-up. Mom knocked on my bedroom to ask if I needed any help getting ready. My answer was No. If I had been a more girly-girl, I might have known that it was something moms did with their daughters on the day of their wedding. If I could go back to that day, I’d have said Yes.

The photographer (the brother of my future BIL) showed up and began taking pictures of my family, including my Mom-Mom and Great Mom-Mom. I got annoyed as the humidity began to muss my hair. (What’s hairspray?) Finally we headed for the church.

The first thing I saw when I got out of Dad’s car was an ex-boyfriend. He wanted to see if I’d go through with it. “I can drive you away if you want…” , he said. I declined the offer. The next person I saw was a guy I had known since third grade. He was also a friend of Hubs. “Who’da thunk I’d be watching you marry one of my best friends?”, he said. Two years later, I’d be saying “Who’da thunk you would be my BIL?” He is still my BIL.

Finally the moment came. The organ started and I watched my sister, who was also my maid-of-honor, walk down the aisle. At that second, Dad whispered to me that the car was gassed and outside of the church doors. “You don’t have to do this.” I wasn’t great at taking advice and I didn’t do it then either.

Then the clock struck twelve. The bells of the church began to ring the familiar “Angelus” of prayer. It rang every day at noon and that Saturday was no different. I didn’t care. It was a sign. I felt that they were chiming for me. I walked down the aisle with my father to attend my meeting with destiny.

Hubs isn’t from a Catholic family. We decided to get married in my Church but with an abbreviated ceremony. (Blessings, readings and vows.) My brothers were the altar servers. As they made faces behind  the priest’s back, I tried my hardest not to laugh. A girl I had known since the age of six sang “Morning Has Broken”. We vowed to ’love and honor’ each other. (I made sure there was no ‘obey’!) The entire service lasted twenty minutes.

Hub’s godfather catered our reception. It was held in a local firehall.  Our mothers decorated with streamers and bells and paper table cloths. Only our family and very few of our friends were there. The kid I played stickball with was there and my best friend from high school was there. Another friend, who said “she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to be invited to her friend’s wedding” crashed the party. Aunt Helen took off her slip and waved it above her head as she danced. The best man passed out while dancing with one of our cousins. One of the waiters got drunk on the free booze and threw up all over the rest room. It was one hell of a party. It is still remembered fondly by everyone who was in  attendance that day.

We left early with the intention of changing our clothes and going back to our families houses. Instead, we sat down on the couch in our little apartment and promptly fell asleep. We let everyone make their own assumptions as to what we were doing. Eventually, we made our stops and said goodbyes. We spent the night in a hotel near the airport and left for the Chesapeake Bay the next morning.

Every detail of that day is etched in my mind like it was yesterday. Hubs can recall the guest list, what people talked about and what music was played. Friends often recall the fact that once the music started, the dance floor was never empty.

Our wedding cost our parents almost $2000. Seriously. My gown and my sister’s gown were $20 each. They were simple prom gowns-the same style-mine white, hers blue. Someone had ordered them, had them tailored and never picked them up. I wore a wreath of baby’s breath in my hair and that was only because my godmother insisted. (You can’t get married in the house of the Lord without your head covered!) I carried daisies. I wore Great Mom-Mom’s pearl earrings. Mom-Mom made the cake.

I remember that I never got nervous. I remember that I never had a doubt.

I remember it all because it was the best day of my life.

I was on the phone tonight with my brother (the older of the two) and it was so weird, but natural at the same time. We don’t usually talk unless it’s important. We both believe that “no news is good news” and we are content to leave things that way. The strange thing is, that even though we don’t ‘chat’ often or even visit (He lives 5 minutes away), we never seem to be missing anything that is going on in each other’s lives.

His kids are new teenagers. (13 and 14) I have been there, done that. My kids are older. He hasn’t grown up so much that he doesn’t remember what it’s like. Therefore we have a ‘touch’ spot for reference. He gets what I am going through and I get what his life is like.

We are the “responsible” ones. We have families. We have good kids. We have wonderful relationships with our spouses. When it comes to the other brother and the sister, we both get equally frustrated with their choices in child rearing, relationships, drinking, womanizing, you get the drift… I get to deal with her and he gets to deal with him. It is as fair as you get in that situation.

We were on the phone for an hour and a half, talking about the kids growing up so fast, How is work?, How’s your honey?, Have you visited Mom lately?, Did you watch the Phillies the other night? Nothing and everything.

We got ready to hang up and just before good-bye, he said, “Love you, Sis.” I said “Love you too.”

I know how he feels. He knows how I feel. We don’t say it often, but we know.

It was nice to hear it tonight.