Skip to main content

Overdue Update

                                           

I know y'all have been just curled up in a fetal position, waiting to hear what's going on in my life, so here I am, taking pity...

Ahem.

I've given a bit of thought to just quitting this blog altogether, since there isn't all that much to say that has any importance. So many, many other people do it a whole lot better than I do.

But...I like the connection. Nice to feel I'm not just drifting around out there (even with Facebook, Twitter, and real-life relationships). This fills whatever void still remains. And I do go through phases in terms of my writing. Back when I really began focusing on this blog, in 2008, I was just brimming over with thoughts. I have a hunch that will start happening again at some point, so might as well keep my options open.


So here's the latest:

First: Wally. He's due to be released in November, close to Thanksgiving. The plan was, he would come here to Vollywood. Amenities would be thin on the ground, but at least he'd have a permanent address, a place to sleep, regular meals consisting of non-ramen nutrients, and someone to help him out with this, that, and the other. Sounded like a reasonably good plan.

The only condition was a somewhat hefty administrative fee that the state he's currently in requires to effect this transfer of his parole. His father, Doug, sent it a few months back. Rather than holding it in reserve in his account and exercising a modicum of self-control, Wally saw fit to spend it on whatever items he felt he needed. You see, he thought he'd be getting a tax refund. Never mind that the amount of the refund was something like a quarter of the total amount of the fee. He spent all but a small amount of the fee, and therefore, no parole transfer.

Yes, I understand fully well that prison inmates need "stuff" to trade and barter so that they don't go too far down the prison social hierarchy. I tried to keep a trickle of money going to him; he kept saying all he needed was a small amount for envelopes and stationery, and enough to buy a phone card. In all the time he's been behind bars, I have not gotten a phone call from him, in spite of filling out the required paperwork.

At any rate, the money's spent, his father is furious, and I'm of the opinion that Wally is charting the course he wants to chart. Meaning, he doesn't want to come to Vollywood, regardless of what he may say. Is this a blessing in disguise for me? Many people close to me seem to think it is. But of course, I have very mixed feelings. The one called "no control over the situation" is by far the worst.

Wally turns 23 toward the end of this month, and a few days later, it will be one year since he got arrested.

The job situation hasn't changed much, but it has at least not gotten worse. I had high hopes for a complete change of career during  June and the first part of July, but those hopes were dashed, and in typical fashion, I crawled back into my turtle shell and have not attempted any more job applications. Part of me is saying "C'mon, let's get this show back on the road," and the other part of me has her fingers stuck in her ears, chanting "Lalalalala, I can't heeeeeear yooooou..."

I did start doing horoscopes again. This is my advertisement. Read it carefully. If you're interested, drop me an email at the address shown on my profile.

Church: Busy-busy-busy. Early August, I let them put me back on the Board of Trustees, but this time I'm over a few committees of strong interest. So far, it's been fun. The "challenge" part of the job description appears to be rearing its funny little head. Egos abound. I will be reporting more as time goes on.

And that's the way it is, September 16th, 2012.  Best wishes to you, Mr. and Mrs. America, and all the blogs at sea.


Comments

Do keep blogging! The blogosphere needs you!

I wish your family well when Wally is released. It must be very challenging for you, and I hope he finds his way.

I understand completely how crushing it can be when job applications fall through. I just experienced one of those dashings of hope myself, something that I assumed was a sure thing. Bah! Work is overrated anyway!

Popular posts from this blog

Memoir - The Year of Kent State

by The Urban Blabbermouth
~
I wanted to write a fictional memoir and it got away from me. 

Original
I was born in the Year of Kent State. I didn't know. I was watching a cable channel specializing in historical programs, in this case, newsworthy events from the 1970s. The Ohio National Guard shot 13 unarmed students protesting the Vietnam War on the Kent State University campus. Four students died. By the time I was aware of a bigger world than my own, Kent State passed into history.

Climbing to New Heights

by The Urban Blabbermouth
~
It started when I was ten.  I was riding shotgun with my father when a small plane crossed the highway in front of us.  The plane floated gently to its landing, like it had all the time in the world.  It was beautiful.  I knew then I wanted to be a pilot.  

I dreamed of soaring with the clouds and flying through them.  I could go anywhere the crow flies.  No stuck in traffic following a road as laid out by some anonymous engineer.  I could fly with the birds, although, I never thought myself a bird.  I loved the freedom.

But, I fear heights.  

It's not just any heights, it's low heights, the kind you get with stairs, balconies, bridges, and landing airplanes.  When I fly on airlines as a passenger, I look out the window at thirty thousand feet, no fear.  Somewhere between six feet, my height, and thirty thousand feet, airplane's height, lives my fear, a mysterious feeling that emerges from my stomach and rises up into my chest.  I can't…

Im gonna git u Sukkah

by The Urban Blabbermouth [who may or may not be shown in the photo above... - v-E] ~ True story. I am walking to my car and I notice a couple of Jewish fellows, twenty somethings, with the bouquets of what looks like bamboo or palm. I know they are Jewish for they look Hasidic. They are wearing long black jackets, wide brim black fedora hats, and have curly sideburns. In truth, I classify all Jewish who dress like this as Hasidic although they may identify themselves differently. They are standing near the corner canvassing passersby.