Somehow, I messed up my first post. Surprise, ditto. I'm not usually so techno-vacant, although web site creation is something I have yet to delve into. I was just trying to edit the first post. Being the type A, stressed individual I am, posting my first installment of something NOONE will read was a big deal for me. I've been around reading other weblogs and I'm not sure if I will get the hang of it. All the posts sound so vague yet entertaining. The balance is so delicate, I'm sure I'll mess it up by intellectualising everthing I write here. Not to mention, being worried about my spelling and grammar. Oh well.

Again, I reitterate, writing is an exercise in vanity. Perhaps I'm not vain enought. My sisters would argue with that statement. They'll argue that I got all the vanity that was left over from the previous 8 children that exited my mother's birth canal. They left their's behind and somehow scooped theirs up with my own on the way out. Being the last of nine kids is a book unto itself, begging to be written.

Well, we'll see if I can get some sort of readership here. Less of the boring details of my own life and perhaps more social commentary. Again, something that will require a fine balancing act. Perhaps pretending to be bi-sexual will help the readership drive. I'm not sure about making clever comments about the social and political nature of the world will be my strength. I'm as confused by it all as the rest of the hapless, helpless masses.

I'm away for Easter. Going to visit friends up north, people I worked with before I quit to go to the States to be tortured by my family and help my Mom recover from Chemo/Radiotherapy, her torture.
posted by KiwiChick at 10:24 PM

Marriage is a funny thing. Monogamy is a myth. I find it very unnatural. I've been married and no one told me that there would be days when all you wanted to do was run as far away as you can and never be found. So, I have to ask myself, 'Is that marriage? or is that just me?" I've come to the conclusion that it's both. Marriage and me don't mix. I'm more fickle than the seasons it seems.

The first time I married, I was very young and thought I could make myself be happy because it was what he wanted so badly. In the end, it all came crashing down just months after the "I do's". When I look back at the big loves of my life, this man I married doesn't even rate. Sad, isn't it.

I take complete responsibility for what I did. I wouldn't have had to meet his boss in the park that day, or gone over to his house. The cards, phone calls and flowers, none of it should have happened. I was an ocean and half a continent away from what I knew and here was this dynamic, great looking guy paying attention to me. Alone. Not just alone, but lonely. He was so charming. So, I ended up out of the frying pan and into the fire. I became so passionate about my passion for this new man. When the proverbial faecal hit the fast moving fan it became him and me against the world. When we fronted up and broke the news, my husband was devastated. I had no idea how powerful it all was. It had grown-up consequences. Would my family forgive me? The threats and names were liberally strewn in my direction. Not from my family. They understood, but my husband’s colleagues and family were livid. His sister promised to slit my throat the next time she saw me. Threats from her were expected.

She was a base character, selfish beyond anything I had ever seen before. The ways she demanded attention were tragic. Her parents overlooked her promiscuity, but it had its consequences. By 23 she had an abnormal pap spear and exploratory surgery to see if there was any permanent damage from the various things she had caught. I heard later that she did have a child with a man she was married to for a short time. With any luck, its grandfather will raise it. With a mother like that, the child has my complete sympathy. I understand it has become her habit to send the child to her father, its grandfather, on weekends so she can go out with her various boyfriends.

He had taken early retirement from a printing company. He was a quiet, kind and gentle man. Quiet because between his wife and daughter, there was no way he could get a word in. Kind and gentle because if any other man had been married to that woman and had that daughter he would have left them after giving them a good bashing.

His mother hit me. Again, not a surprise. She ran that family like a manipulative, double crossing spy. She reminded me of a character our American Literature teacher had talked about. I couldn’t remember the character’s name, or even the author, but I remembered the word with which she was described; termagant. It was the perfect word to describe the woman.

The dynamics of that family were strange and I certainly didn’t fit within its parameters. My ex-husband has since remarried and they just had a baby. His new wife seems to fit into the family. I had heard from some of the people she worked with. She wasn’t popular with them. They found her to be materialistic and shallow. I think that’s great. She has much more in common with the family that I did.

posted by KiwiChick at 6:28 PM

Writing is a horrible conceit. To imagine that you have something to say that other people want to hear, or read and then spend so much time putting that on paper, or in this case, on line is a self absorbed past time. Why am I doing it?

To be honest, I just didn’t want to be out-done by a friend of mine. English is his second language and I’m constantly reminded of how much better he is at expressing himself in my language than me. Damn it. So here we go, trying to put original and entertaining ideas in a lucid form and sending them off into the ether.

I grew up in Wisconsin, but couldn’t imagine living there ever again. In fact, I couldn’t imagine living in the US again. I just visited my family. I quit my job, organised to have my belongings sent to a friend’s house and flew from my home in New Zealand to Wisconsin. I spent the last 7 months in Wisconsin, placating family members, laughing and crying with friends, baking for my dad and, most importantly, caring for my mother.

An inoperable tumour in her chest, putting pressure on her back ribs was causing considerable pain and had to be dealt with. She was bombarded with radiation and soaked with chemotherapy drugs. When I arrived the last week of July 2001, one of my other sisters had just shaved her hair off. It had been coming out in clumps, …..as it does.

It was difficult to watch. I rubbed her back when she was being sick. I felt so helpless. Dad and I rushed to the grocery store three-four times a day, buying something that she mentioned might taste good to her. When dinnertime came around, she would realise that there was no way could choke the food down. So, I cooked for Dad and me and sat her down with a meal drink and a straw. I resolved to stay there until she was declared ‘in remission.’

That I did. I was there until 10 March 2002. By that time, I had fallen out badly with a sister, terrorist's attacked New York and D.C. and I had rediscovered a love I thought was lost, but Mom had the declaration from the doctor. Remission. It sounds so temporary. Mom and Dad still smoke, much to their own disgust. They had 9 children. I’m the last one and the only one who doesn’t smoke.

I think much of what I have to say here will be about the tobacco companies.

Doesn’t it seem strange that abortion clinics are being bombed, but tobacco companies aren’t? If you’re going to do one, shouldn’t you go bomb the other? I’m not advocating people do that, of course. Bad people for bombing things!! But tobacco companies have to be responsible for more deaths, certainly, if you even consider what abortion clinics do is kill. I think that when people get sick from smoking related illnesses, the evidence of the illness should be sent to the tobacco company. Can you imagine it? When my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer from smoking the doctor would have asked, “And what brand of cigarettes have you smoked most of your life?”. Her x-rays, any tissue left over from a biopsy or the removal of an organ would have been sent to that tobacco company. I could have sent them all the puke she vomited when she was going through chemo. She had part of her lung removed in 1996. I would have liked to deliver that one personally.

I’ll think of more to write later.. Now I’ve just made myself too angry….


[edit]
[3/24/2002 2:34:49 AM | Carol Taylor]
Writing is a horrible conceit. To imagine that you have something to say that other people want to hear, or read and then spend so much time putting that on paper, or in this case, on line is a self absorbed past time. Why am I doing it?

To be honest, I just didn’t want to be out-done by a friend of mine. English is his second language and I’m constantly reminded of how much better he is at expressing himself in my language than me. Damn it. So here we go, trying to put original and entertaining ideas in a lucid form and sending them off into the ether.

I grew up in Wisconsin, but couldn’t imagine living there ever again. In fact, I couldn’t imagine living in the US again. I just visited my family. I quit my job, organised to have my belongings sent to a friend’s house and flew from my home in New Zealand to Wisconsin. I spent the last 7 months in Wisconsin, placating family members, laughing and crying with friends, baking for my dad and, most importantly, caring for my mother.

An inoperable tumour in her chest, putting pressure on her back ribs was causing considerable pain and had to be dealt with. She was bombarded with radiation and soaked with chemotherapy drugs. When I arrived the last week of July 2001, one of my other sisters had just shaved her hair off. It had been coming out in clumps, …..as it does.

It was difficult to watch. I rubbed her back when she was being sick. I felt so helpless. Dad and I rushed to the grocery store three-four times a day, buying something that she mentioned might taste good to her. When dinnertime came around, she would realise that there was no way could choke the food down. So, I cooked for Dad and me and sat her down with a meal drink and a straw. I resolved to stay there until she was declared ‘in remission.’

That I did. I was there until 10 March 2002. By that time, I had fallen out badly with a sister, terrorist's attacked New York and D.C. and I had rediscovered a love I thought was lost, but Mom had the declaration from the doctor. Remission. It sounds so temporary. Mom and Dad still smoke, much to their own disgust. They had 9 children. I’m the last one and the only one who doesn’t smoke.

I think much of what I have to say here will be about the tobacco companies.

Doesn’t it seem strange that abortion clinics are being bombed, but tobacco companies aren’t? If you’re going to do one, shouldn’t you go bomb the other? I’m not advocating people do that, of course. Bad people for bombing things!! But tobacco companies have to be responsible for more deaths, certainly, if you even consider what abortion clinics do is kill. I think that when people get sick from smoking related illnesses, the evidence of the illness should be sent to the tobacco company. Can you imagine it? When my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer from smoking the doctor would have asked, “And what brand of cigarettes have you smoked most of your life?”. Her x-rays, any tissue left over from a biopsy or the removal of an organ would have been sent to that tobacco company. I could have sent them all the puke she vomited when she was going through chemo. She had part of her lung removed in 1996. I would have liked to deliver that one personally.

I’ll think of more to write later.. Now I’ve just made myself too angry….


posted by KiwiChick at 3:29 PM

[3/24/2002 2:34:49 AM | Carol Taylor]
Writing is a horrible conceit. To imagine that you have something to say that other people want to hear, or read and then spend so much time putting that on paper, or in this case, on line is a self absorbed past time. Why am I doing it?

To be honest, I just didn’t want to be out-done by a friend of mine. English is his second language and I’m constantly reminded of how much better he is at expressing himself in my language than me. Damn it. So here we go, trying to put original and entertaining ideas in a lucid form and sending them off into the ether.

I grew up in Wisconsin, but couldn’t imagine living there ever again. In fact, I couldn’t imagine living in the US again. I just visited my family. I quit my job, organised to have my belongings sent to a friend’s house and flew from my home in New Zealand to Wisconsin. I spent the last 7 months in Wisconsin, placating family members, laughing and crying with friends, baking for my dad and, most importantly, caring for my mother.

An inoperable tumour in her chest, putting pressure on her back ribs was causing considerable pain and had to be dealt with. She was bombarded with radiation and soaked with chemotherapy drugs. When I arrived the last week of July 2001, one of my other sisters had just shaved her hair off. It had been coming out in clumps, …..as it does.

It was difficult to watch. I rubbed her back when she was being sick. I felt so helpless. Dad and I rushed to the grocery store three-four times a day, buying something that she mentioned might taste good to her. When dinnertime came around, she would realise that there was no way could choke the food down. So, I cooked for Dad and me and sat her down with a meal drink and a straw. I resolved to stay there until she was declared ‘in remission.’

That I did. I was there until 10 March 2002. By that time, I had fallen out badly with a sister, terrorist's attacked New York and D.C. and I had rediscovered a love I thought was lost, but Mom had the declaration from the doctor. Remission. It sounds so temporary. Mom and Dad still smoke, much to their own disgust. They had 9 children. I’m the last one and the only one who doesn’t smoke.

I think much of what I have to say here will be about the tobacco companies.

Doesn’t it seem strange that abortion clinics are being bombed, but tobacco companies aren’t? If you’re going to do one, shouldn’t you go bomb the other? I’m not advocating people do that, of course. Bad people for bombing things!! But tobacco companies have to be responsible for more deaths, certainly, if you even consider what abortion clinics do is kill. I think that when people get sick from smoking related illnesses, the evidence of the illness should be sent to the tobacco company. Can you imagine it? When my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer from smoking the doctor would have asked, “And what brand of cigarettes have you smoked most of your life?”. Her x-rays, any tissue left over from a biopsy or the removal of an organ would have been sent to that tobacco company. I could have sent them all the puke she vomited when she was going through chemo. She had part of her lung removed in 1996. I would have liked to deliver that one personally.

I’ll think of more to write later.. Now I’ve just made myself too angry….


posted by KiwiChick at 3:28 PM

Writing is a horrible conceit. To imagine that you have something to say that other people want to hear, or read and then spend so much time putting that on paper, or in this case, on line is a self absorbed past time. Why am I doing it?

To be honest, I just didn’t want to be out-done by a friend of mine. English is his second language and I’m constantly reminded of how much better he is at expressing himself in my language than me. Damn it. So here we go, trying to put original and entertaining ideas in a lucid form and sending them off into the ether.

I grew up in Wisconsin, but couldn’t imagine living there ever again. In fact, I couldn’t imagine living in the US again. I just visited my family. I quit my job, organised to have my belongings sent to a friend’s house and flew from my home in New Zealand to Wisconsin. I spent the last 7 months in Wisconsin, placating family members, laughing and crying with friends, baking for my dad and, most importantly, caring for my mother.

An inoperable tumour in her chest, putting pressure on her back ribs was causing considerable pain and had to be dealt with. She was bombarded with radiation and soaked with chemotherapy drugs. When I arrived the last week of July 2001, one of my other sisters had just shaved her hair off. It had been coming out in clumps, …..as it does.

It was difficult to watch. I rubbed her back when she was being sick. I felt so helpless. Dad and I rushed to the grocery store three-four times a day, buying something that she mentioned might taste good to her. When dinnertime came around, she would realise that there was no way could choke the food down. So, I cooked for Dad and me and sat her down with a meal drink and a straw. I resolved to stay there until she was declared ‘in remission.’

That I did. I was there until 10 March 2002. By that time, I had fallen out badly with a sister, terrorist's attacked New York and D.C. and I had rediscovered a love I thought was lost, but Mom had the declaration from the doctor. Remission. It sounds so temporary. Mom and Dad still smoke, much to their own disgust. They had 9 children. I’m the last one and the only one who doesn’t smoke.

I think much of what I have to say here will be about the tobacco companies.

Doesn’t it seem strange that abortion clinics are being bombed, but tobacco companies aren’t? If you’re going to do one, shouldn’t you go bomb the other? I’m not advocating people do that, of course. Bad people for bombing things!! But tobacco companies have to be responsible for more deaths, certainly, if you even consider what abortion clinics do is kill. I think that when people get sick from smoking related illnesses, the evidence of the illness should be sent to the tobacco company. Can you imagine it? When my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer from smoking the doctor would have asked, “And what brand of cigarettes have you smoked most of your life?”. Her x-rays, any tissue left over from a biopsy or the removal of an organ would have been sent to that tobacco company. I could have sent them all the puke she vomited when she was going through chemo. She had part of her lung removed in 1996. I would have liked to deliver that one personally.

I’ll think of more to write later.. Now I’ve just made myself too angry….

posted by KiwiChick at 2:34 AM