Victoria's Secret

I received a clothing catalog in the mail today - Victoria's Secret. I wonder what my mother would have thought about the pictures in it. The most risque catalog I ever remember her reading was the Sears Catalog. From everything I heard about my grandmother though, she wouldn't have been shocked and neither would one of my great grandmothers, my mother's mother's mother. They were both divorced in a time that divorce was not ever considered. I didn't even know divorce was an option back then. My grandmother was born in 1883 and was married at 18. My great grandmother was born in 1860 and was divorced from my grandmother's father whose name was Thackeray and married another man named Dunworth. They all lived in Waterbury, CT and Mr. Dunworth lived with his first wife a few houses down from the Thackerys. What does this suggest? More than friendly neighbors? Maybe a secret but not Victoria's.

The woman on the left is my grandmother but you can't really see her face very well. She was about 23 in this picture. On the right is my grandmother's mother and at the time of the picture already Mrs. Dunworth. My real grandfather is in front of my grandmother and Mr. Dunworth is in front of my great grandmother. She doesn't look very old but he looks ancient and mean. My mother is in the middle. My grandmother and grandfather had another child, my Uncle Carl after this picture was taken. My mother went to live with her grandmother after the divorce. I don't know where my uncle was, maybe still with my grandmother. I think she must have seen a lot going on in those years because she was always very ladylike and a real goody-goody the opposite of my grandmother. My great grandmother owned a tavern and they lived upstairs. My mother never drank or smoked or looked at any other man except my father. She said it was from all those years of seeing those drunks from the window upstairs. Those years must have had a profound effect on her psyche. There is more to the story of course.

Awake or dreaming

The other night I dreamed that my dog ran away and she didn't have her collar on. I whistled and called for her to come back but she was hell bent on catching a cat on the other side of the street. I woke up with Tinker licking my face anxiously. Did I whistle in my sleep or call her name? I've often woken up from a dead sleep crying with tears running down my face. My pet's reaction the other night leads me to believe that I must be acting out my dreams out loud.

I've dreamed before that I was in a submarine and couldn't breathe. I fought to open a window to let in some air and finally woke myself up in a cold sweat. The next morning I found that the painting over my bed was hanging askew and I remember in my dream that I had ripped off the window to get some air and then put it back. It must have been the picture I ripped off the wall and then put back on the picture hanger and not getting it on straight.

Does this mean I might walk in my sleep or walk outside and come back in and go back to bed or do I restrict myself to doing things only in my room. I don't take sleeping pills or anything to help me sleep. Is this phenomenon a normal thing? I have often wondered what dreams mean and have even read books about it but they all sound silly to me. Are dreams our subconscious minds acting out things we would or wouldn't do during our waking hours?

I have very colorful dreams during times of stress but they don't seem to have anything to do with the condition causing the stress. Sometimes these dreams can be very interesting and I don't want to wake up until the dream is over. Especially the shopping dreams where I try on new clothes endlessly - I'm always wondering what I'll finally pick out.

Some people tell me that they don't dream at all. That seems unlikely to me, I think they just don't remember them or they never get into the REM sleep stage where dreams appear.

My big question is do dreams help us get through our days because we are releasing tensions that occur during the day that we can't get rid of during the day. I wonder if people who do yoga or biofeedback have these colorful, interesting dreams or are their daily tensions already released and they have nothing to dream about?

Bloggers Blogging Blogs

If you are fairly experienced at blogs you probably don't do this, but as a new blogger I find myself sitting for hours and hours chasing links and reading and reading about other people's lives. Is that because mine is so uninteresting or is it because these things are like scavenger hunts, clues to track down in order to find the prize? The prize being, I guess, the most interesting absorbing blog that I can attach to my blog as a link for others to read. I found beautiful photos, a blog about female fantasies (that was informative), pictures of babies and children and even pictures of cats that look like Hitler!

I don't know what the actual count is but there must be millions of blogs out there and since most had comments attached, someone to read them.

This pastime could take up weeks of my time, months even. It could even replace food in my life which would be a blessing in disguise but the one thing it couldn't replace is books. I still prefer books with long, long stories instead of short stories.

I can even lie down and read my books without having to tilt my head back to look at them through my bifocal lenses.

Am I going to be on the cover?

I've been asked to do an online interview about lampwork beads, my purchase of them and my jewelry designing. I wish I could do an interview on how to make them but oh no, it's all in the buying. Important people want to know these things. How did I get interested in lampwork beads, making jewelry, ebay auctions and especially why do I spend so much money on them.

What can I say, "I love them". Each little bead is a work of art. A little creation first from someone's mind and then from that person's hands. What's not to like?

As for how much I pay for them - that's my business. Do I ask the guy down the street why he didn't buy a Kia instead of that Mercedes? It's none of my business. I can't exactly say that in this interview though so it's my chance to be tactful. Full of tact.

Since I went off of the antidepressants I'm not so full of tact. Words spill out of my mouth and they are all about grievances I've had for a while now and never mentioned to anyone.

So I'll try to do this interview with my glass at least half full of tact instead of half empty of tact.

Shooby Dooby Doo

I'm listening to some of the greatest music. Do you remember Jim Croce? Back in the 70's he was very very popular with songs like "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" and "Time in a Bottle". About two months ago I bought a CD entitled "Jim Croce His Greatest Hits". My favorite song on the album is "These Dreams".

There was a nightclub here in Fort Worth in the 70's and the women all dressed up in long gowns and high heels to go out dancing on Saturday nights. This was a real classy place, not the cowtown ballroom type thing. I can still remember being out on that dance floor with my husband dancing to "You Don't Mess Around with Jim" by Jim Croce, "I Can See Clearly Now" by Johnny Nash and "Baby, Baby Don't Get Hooked on Me" by Mac Davis.

That nightclub is now closed of course, and has been turned into offices. The building still looks the same though, out by the river off of University Drive in Fort Worth. I miss that atmosphere, the live band so close to the dance floor and eating dinner while watching others dance, the women glittering in long gowns and the men handsome in their dark suits and ties.

Remembering Dad

Yesterday was Father's Day. I cooked for my boys and their families but Father's Day is really about thinking about or remembering your own father. My Dad was born in County Kerry, Ireland in 1891 into a family of eight children. The little village of Fahan was their birthplace. Mostly neighbors married neighbors because there were no automobiles and walking or riding donkey's was the only mode of transport. My father's father did marry someone from another town in Ireland and I wish I knew how that came about. My father emmigrated to America when he was 17 years old, fought in Europe in WWI and became a citizen for the privilege of risking his life in battle.

He married by mother when he was 31 and my mother was 21. My brother was born in 1930 and I was born eight years later in 1938.

My Dad was a very quiet man and I don't remember spending any one-on-one time with him until I was five years old. He had saved up his spending money (money was tight in those years during WWII) and took me by the hand and we walked downtown to a shoe store. He bought me a terrific pair of shoes I wanted and I walked proudly home in them. I was limping as we walked into the house and I showed my mother what Daddy had bought me.

My mother was mad because they were too small but I really really wanted them and told him that they were fine. I think I wore them only one more time because of course they made my feet hurt. When I was in my early teens he bought me a pink 78rpm record player, again with money that he had saved.

Times were different then, fathers went to work and mothers stayed home. There was no playing in the park, coaching baseball or swimming in the lake like fathers do now. Yet I never felt like I was deprived, I felt like I belonged to a family even though my father wasn't communicative, he presence was always there.

I think my mother wore the pants in the family. My Dad was just a very very quiet man except on Sundays in summer when he could be heard rooting for the Boston Red Sox as he listened to the games on the radio.

Even though I never knew the man underneath the dad, I miss him. I wish I had talked to him more, asked him more questions about his life in Ireland and how he met my mother and what he thought about while he sat quietly in his chair in the living room.

Decisions, Decisions

I have been thinking about a decision I have to make about whether to go back to work at the office fulltime. The pros and cons have been floating around in my head since yesterday. I miss the companionship and camaraderie of the people I work with but I don't miss getting up early, putting on makeup and business clothes and driving for 45 long minutes in heavy traffic to get there. My return would give me an outlet for some of my creativity in certain areas but rapidly decrease that same creativity in other areas such as the jewelry making I enjoy, working with metal and other artistic endeavors that I've been waiting for 32 years to learn. I've worked at the same job for 32 years. There are some exciting things happening at work that I would like to participate in but just the thought of giving up my hobbies depresses me.

I'm happy that I am able to make this decision, not everyone has the choice, but I don't want to regret the choice I make (the grass is always greener, right?). I think I need to think about this some more.