tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62218108841183990612024-03-13T00:16:46.152-06:00Quin Brownea place for everything...and everything in its place.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.comBlogger582125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-53189869578327446032014-09-06T08:10:00.003-06:002014-09-06T08:10:58.261-06:00I Remember This Place!I lied.<br />
<br />
I said in April, I'd start blogging again....and, I didn't.<br />
<br />
I started this blog, formerly known as FMD, to let my friends and family I left behind, how I was doing after making the decision to move to New York, following my bout with cancer. I wanted to write. I wanted new things. I wanted to make a world where the eight million who live in the City and boroughs weren't scary unknowns, but, simply people I hadn't met yet. I wanted to meet other writers, to be published, to explore.<br />
<br />
And, I did.<br />
<br />
Since then, my life has been slightly chaotic, I've moved so many times, a friend has an extra piece of paper with all my addresses written on it stapled to my page in her address book. I kept my old friends, made new ones who are just as dear, traveled, been institutionalized, stopped writing, became a Nana and moved, yet again.<br />
<br />
A <a href="http://l-empress.liscious.net/">friend</a>, after reading my lengthy FB post yesterday said, "It's time for you to start blogging again.".<br />
<br />
She is, once again, correct. Now, if I can just manage blogging on the iPad, I may get this going properly. Otherwise, my trusty 2007 Mac is pulled out from under the bed, the power cord is once more black taped to the body and I use it's trusty self to help me along.<br />
<br />
I thought of censoring some things, of blocking some people from reading, however, except for the name, I've stayed true to my life in this place...why change now.<br />
<br />
And, we're off!<br />
<br />quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-24855369406478035752014-04-27T20:31:00.002-06:002014-04-27T20:31:41.251-06:00it's been so very, very longi had every intention of keeping this blog locked down and tucked away. i felt it's time was done, and i needed to move on to other things. however, things happen, time moves on and minds change.<br />
<br />
once again, i'm blogging to keep my sanity, to discuss my life, to comment on things around me--and, i hope i do a good job.<br />
<br />
i certainly plan on giving it my best shot. quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-26257284217811230292011-10-21T14:10:00.000-06:002011-10-21T14:10:12.607-06:00Happy Anniversary<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{"type":3}">Five years ago today, I had surgery to remove the (to quote my surgeon), "biggest motherfuckin' tumor I've ever seen on a thyroid".</span></span></h6><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{"type":3}">Five years ago, with that operation, I went from a person with cancer to a person in remission. Five is the magic number everyone with cancer looks toward--it says you've beat odds, it says you can breathe again, it says you've come out the other side, and the world is even brighter. </span></span></h6><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody translationEligibleUserMessage" data-ft="{"type":3}"> Five years is more than I thought I'd have....I was so scared. But, I don't usually do what I'm told to do, so, I gave cancer the same treatment--refusal to submit. <span class="text_exposed_show">It changed my life. I moved to New York, found friends and adventure, and I may be broke, but, I don't regret anything. <br />
<br />
Thank you all for being with me during these five years, and, thanks to <a data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=100000618476038" href="https://www.facebook.com/nevesmatt">Matt Neves</a> who held my hand, and <a data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=686431456" href="https://www.facebook.com/jashuma">Joshua Stavros</a>--who joined Matt in prayer over me. I felt that power, and held on to it's goodness.<br />
<br />
Five years. Well done, me.</span></span></span></h6>quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-80981559684927354002011-09-20T14:01:00.002-06:002011-09-20T14:01:25.874-06:00operator, will you help me place this call?yesterday, i made a decision i thought i'd never make by placing a phone call.<br />
<br />
today, that call opened a crack in a closed door.<br />
<br />
i look forward to seeing what is next.... i continue to believe one of the biggest lessons in life is to forgive real or imagined injustices--and, i'm currently sticking to that maxim. quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-77898442289724796282011-07-10T10:28:00.001-06:002011-07-12T09:18:03.763-06:00It's a Good DayTime passes, things change, we move forward if we are lucky, stay stagnant if not.<br />
<br />
Since my last post, I've gone from NYC to Niwot, to Denver, to New Orleans to Mississippi back to Niwot, Denver and returning to Mississippi in June. Some of that journey has been a delight, some of it--hard to bear emotionally. This period of time has drained me physically, mentally... I lay on the bottom of the vale of depression, held from doing anything to myself only by the thin thread of medication.<br />
<br />
Well, that and after I figured out I had no desire to be found in a pool of my own body waste, I'd have to forgo eating and drinking for a few days along with taking strong laxatives. When it became more of a bother to die than to carry on...I chose the latter.<br />
<br />
I'm at 'home' now...sharing Mother's cottage in Mississippi...rural Mississippi. I sleep on a bed that folds up and sits next to hers during the day, one I inflate at night, covering it with good sheets and putting it in the sweet spot of coolness--under the AC vent. Sophie perches on windowsills, wishing to be outside. The birds land on branches just beyond her reach, safely protected from her by a pane of glass, and they taunt her with their nearness. Since she cannot stalk them, she's become the killer of house flies and the occasional roach--eating the first, letting the second lie on it's huge back in the middle of the kitchen floor. I am thankful she does not bring them to my bed.<br />
<br />
Douglass rules all, Mother's beloved pet, her companion. It was a good decision to leave her here three years ago...they adore each other.<br />
<br />
Then, there is Mother herself--bent over now, arthritis and a bad back hobbling her movements. She's 79 now, and, I can say with hand on heart, I hope she is about for another 10 years. We've mended bridges, we both now find laughter when one or the other irritates their housemate, she is my best audience, and I am free to be foolish around her. I like her company.<br />
<br />
I've ignored my writing lately--I am not sure if Quin is dead or merely sleeping... I do know I find a great deal to write about, I push words around in my head, then...<br />
<br />
...I do nothing.<br />
<br />
Perhaps this will change--perhaps it won't. I do know I found a wonderful quote today on Facebook: <br />
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">"I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together." <br />
— Marilyn Monroe</span></span></i></h6><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"> </span></span></i></h6><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Thank you, Marilyn. I think your candle did burn out long before it should. </span></span><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br />
</span></span></i></h6>quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-6408808990892631972011-04-12T16:06:00.002-06:002011-04-12T16:06:28.734-06:00St Baldrick's or, How I Lost My Hair For a Good ReasonThree weeks ago, I sat in a chair in front of 300 people, and had my head shaved.<br />
<br />
Even though I'd planned on having this done, had discussed it, thought about it, bought scarves, made jokes--half way through the procedure, I started to cry. I had to take a minute and gather myself together, and remind myself, this is hair. Nothing more nor less, and, you've raised a nice chunk of change for St Baldrick's Society, so, suck it up and get over it, okay?<br />
<br />
Men go bald, and people don't notice. Let's be honest, more and more men shave their heads now instead of the horrific comb over, and are good with the look. Hell, they're hot most of the time (I think of Stanley Tucci and Terry Kinney in particular...YUM!!) and it's accepted. Women? Not so much.<br />
<br />
I wore a scarf for around three minutes, then I figured, Fuck it... I'm going to rock the bald, and, I have so far. Sure, I have to remember to put sunblock on my pate and, on occasions when it's cold I put on a scarf or even a hat--although they tend to slide down onto my face now. No one says anything to me for the most part, and when someone does, they ask if I'm in treatment. I'm glad to say that, no, I've been in remission for a few years now, then, I explain St Baldrick's and the great work they do there. <br />
<br />
In fact, I've only had one negative comment--one that hurt, to be quite frank, and, one that came from a source I didn't expect. It made me realise the person who wrote it doesn't know me as well as either of us thought. I'm over it, although I must say I cried when I first read the mail.<br />
<br />
Regardless... this is my new look for a bit. I am glad I took this step, I'm glad I was able to be just a small part of the group that raised<i> $600,000</i> in one event, I'm glad that I can say I did a good thing in my life. We all need to do something for our fellow humans...to remind ourselves we are not alone and together we can do many, many things. Cancer is an exclusive club, and, in my humble opinion, one children shouldn't have the right to join. I do not understand how you can tell your child who barely knows their alphabet they are going to lose their leg. Children shouldn't have to know more about their blood counts than they do their multiplication tables. They should worry about how to beat Nana on Wii, if they can sneak in another hour before bedtime, how to kiss. Puberty should be their biggest worry, not wondering if they'll make it to puberty.<br />
<br />
If you are interested in donating, please go to www.stbaldricks.org. Give a dollar, give ten... you are working towards children never having cancer again, and that's a mitzvah.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjNojaxw1MRtUH0UzpdT0y5b5-4riTUuYDug-_BAbRHIs_jNbfDupu1lTxogZeq4AAxAt_dHcI1j_GUxHS_hU67EbML-QCPNEw915PTLxSi6_Hl1dGFN2d8a-csBhDQAmdZLS9ORqP-L6v/s1600/Photo+55.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjNojaxw1MRtUH0UzpdT0y5b5-4riTUuYDug-_BAbRHIs_jNbfDupu1lTxogZeq4AAxAt_dHcI1j_GUxHS_hU67EbML-QCPNEw915PTLxSi6_Hl1dGFN2d8a-csBhDQAmdZLS9ORqP-L6v/s200/Photo+55.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirKi5vY3Q8vVJ2oyDzBPH9m7F9fb_a9BEz3HqkzoV3sFsoSCB3fnVb3CN1RIiXqWJMHqw1g2340LA46EqDQ4VYBXvvEz8FB3Geh4dHQtwOs8hq4AP8Dt1nlVrC-2bu46jVBL9bvHIzknku/s1600/Photo+50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirKi5vY3Q8vVJ2oyDzBPH9m7F9fb_a9BEz3HqkzoV3sFsoSCB3fnVb3CN1RIiXqWJMHqw1g2340LA46EqDQ4VYBXvvEz8FB3Geh4dHQtwOs8hq4AP8Dt1nlVrC-2bu46jVBL9bvHIzknku/s200/Photo+50.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-89831996858787978342011-03-18T21:54:00.004-06:002011-03-19T20:21:12.275-06:00The Things That Make HomeHis name was Bill.<br />
<br />
He didn't go by Bill, though, he liked people to call him Billy. I'd sat down across from him during my trek from Cassidy's in Brooklyn back to my new place in Manhattan, by way of the 2 train to Fulton, then, a long way down stairs, along the platform, up stairs and finally to the 4/5 train...from there, one stop to Brooklyn Bridge, walk straight over to the 6 and head uptown to my stop.<br />
<br />
I was doing this lugging a small piece of luggage (hurrah for wheels!), my purse, a shopping bag...oh, and Sophie in her carry-case. Having just been shaved and having been forced back into the carry-case and having been made to leave her holiday home with Cassidy and Sophie's new best fried, Daisy...well, she wasn't very happy to say the least. So, I dashed onto the 6, plopped myself down, sighed and re-arranged all by bags, trying not to look like one of the Crazy Sisters of the MTA.<br />
<br />
He was sitting across from me, and he smiled when I looked up, saying, "That your cat? It looks pretty." He was missing his top front teeth, but, he was clean and neat and spoke softly.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I had a cat. His name was Coco...I mean, he was so beautiful! He was like white? Only, if you looked real close, he had <i>reeeeeeeeaaaaly</i> light brown tips on those hairs so, I called him Coco cause he looked like you know, cocoa powder. Oh, and his eyes, man, those eyes! They were either blue or green and he'd come when I called him. I found him outside, in an alley, his mom was dead or something, he was this little guy....and I fed him and man, I'd just had him fixed, over at the Animal Shelter? They were the ones who fixed him up when he was in the fire....I slept outside the shelter so I could be there all day with him. They let me sit by his cage. And, I was up on Grand Concourse, you know, in the Bronx?" <br />
<br />
I nodded, said I knew the place... before I could say more, he was back on his tale.<br />
<br />
"So, yeah, I've got Coco, and like, I have a shopping bag with his food and stuff, and he's in his little case...I stepped into this store, where I sweep sometimes, and I, man, I just turned my back, like two seconds...two seconds! When I looked back, Coco and the case were gone! Gone. Man, I went crazy. I ran up and down and yelled for him, because he comes to his name and all, and I was crying and stuff...because, Coco? He's all I have. I'm supposed to be getting housing soon since the place we were living in, me and Coco, it burned--that's when he got sick and was at the vet place. He wasn't breathing when the firemen carried him out and they gave him oxygen cause I was crying and yelling his name and then he went to the vets. He was all better, and I was taking him with me here on the train, every day, we'd ride the train so I could sleep. I'd put my hand inside his case, and he'd sleep on it..just lie there, and lick it and go to sleep."<br />
<br />
Sophie pushed her face into the mesh window, meowed. He reached over and stroked it with the side of his finger. "Where did you get her?", he asked, crooning to her.<br />
<br />
"WalMart, in Utah. In a parking lot. Proves you can get anything at WalMart." He didn't stop his whispered words to her...looking up at me, sad, so very sad.<br />
<br />
"It's been a month, and, like, I'm still so full of grief. Everyone in the neighborhood..they know me, they know Coco, and I know they'll grab him if they see him. I just hope who ever took him really liked his looks, you know? Not grabbed him to be mean, but, because he was such a great looking cat. Oh, I do miss him so much, especially when I'm sleeping on the train."<br />
<br />
I asked him if he worked...where did he eat? He told me he had a few businesses that paid him $20 each for a week of sweeping their floors...it was enough to buy him a train ticket for a week and some food. He'd often buy Coco food before he bought his own. He is on a list for housing, should be soon, he tells me--a friend got him on the HIV housing list, and even though he doesn't have HIV, he is going to take the place. <br />
<br />
He's been off crack for five years now...no family. People need family, he tells me--Coco was his. I offer him $5, he refuses. <br />
<br />
"I work. I don't take handouts, and I really appreciate you offering. I go to the shelter, shower and shave every two days. I mean, I'm on the train, but, I don't want people to think I'm a bum or a begger. I had bad times, I'm out of them. Thank you, but, no."<br />
<br />
Sophie meows, fully irritated there are people on this train, that she is naked now, and she is not happy. He laughs.<br />
<br />
"She's going to ignore you tonight! Man, you're going to really have to work hard to get her to like you again."<br />
<br />
I open the zipper a bit, she pokes out her head...looks around, ignores everyone there and focuses on his face. He reaches over, strokes her head. She turns, licks his finger, ducks back in and settles down. <br />
<br />
His eyes fill. "Man. I miss Coco. He was all I had."<br />
<br />
I suggest he go to the shelters, get another cat. He says they don't allow homeless people to have a cat or dog.<br />
<br />
"What they don't understand is, sometimes, that's all we have, those pets and we take better care of them than someone who has a dog or some pet because it's cool and stuff. When you have a pet, you can't go to the shelters. They wont' let you. When I win the lottery, if God lets me win it, I tell Him, "God, if I win this, I'll spend it all on building shelters for homeless people and their pets." I say that every night."<br />
<br />
It's my stop. I stand, gather the stuff, swing Sophie's case onto my shoulder. I reach out, shake his hand... tuck the five into his palm. "It's from Sophie." And, I move quickly so he can't give it back...he's almost out of his seat when I go out the door, turning to wave and smile.<br />
<br />
"Thank you, Sophie!", he calls. "Coco would have liked you!" He waves, settles against the wall, closes his eyes as the door closes between us.<br />
<br />
I hope he does win the lottery. I know he'll keep that promise, and build places where homeless people can have those animals that are so important, that are family, that represent home.<br />
<br />
I prayed that night that Billy finds Coco...I hope God listens to that request, too.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-80632716172947249922011-03-13T09:48:00.000-06:002011-03-13T09:48:13.608-06:00Moves, Trains and BeggersA few more days left, then, another change.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure Sophie is up to it...she's settled in nicely here at Cassidy's place. After a month here, she may not want to leave her new best friend, Daisy, even if Cassidy did re-name her 'Peaches'. Sophie, not Daisy. In retaliation, I've taken to calling Daisy 'Marmalade'....and, like Peac--I mean, Sophie...she ignores both names if it suits her. <br />
<br />
I'm mostly packed...a few more things to sort into boxes and bins and to decide what to keep out for my last months here. My new place is in an amazing part of town--I can't wait to explore it to the fullest. The summer looms ahead, another choice to be made...and a new chapter, once again.<br />
<br />
I want to see as many shows as I can afford while I'm still here. I am going to the MCC Theater next week to catch one, a play with a great plot and good actors. There are a few more that call me, including 'Wicked', which I've yearned to see for years and have never managed to catch--even with 'Defying Gravity' as my ringtone on my phone.<br />
<br />
I need to make it to see SortaMom before I go, to catch lunch with Mark, to make sure Peggy has another weekend here in NYC...one where we can feel free to laugh and joke and not worry about another person's glowering to put a cap on our fun.<br />
<br />
I'll have Nathan back in town for a few days next week, a small film role I've been cast in and the joy of Spring in New York. Flip-flops, tshirts and, for me, a baseball cap to shield my bald head. I look forward to those days.<br />
<br />
I can do this. I'm nothing if not resilient (my landlady pointed out she admired my resiliency, and thanked me for being so flexible and kind in the current situation, considering I was forced into a place I didn't want to be by an immovable will...we are parting on good terms), and, after I take a deep breath and absorb it all, I'll be fine.<br />
<br />
I will miss the '2' train for one reason--the perpetual begger. She's been on that line for years, I first saw/heard her three years ago, and she still had the same spiel when I saw her recently going downtown... the italics are my inner monologue;<br />
<br />
"Hello everyone. I hate to disturb you <i>no, you don't, </i>but <i>the word but negates all that is said before it </i>I am a poor widow with two children who need food and clothing. Won't you help?"<br />
<br />
Two men opened their wallets, as a young black man raised his voice to announce she was a scam, he'd seen her before. The men ignored his words, and, as the begger walked past him, she smirked and said, "God bless you!"<br />
<br />
On the way back uptown, there she was again! Same words, same sad look...and again, men opened their wallets. So, I stood up in the aisle of the half full car.<br />
<br />
"Um, you were just doing this same stuff a few hours ago, AND, I've heard you doing this for years, you just changed your train line."<br />
<br />
She stopped, stared....and tried to get her audience back, "....my children need medicine, food, and we have to rely on oth..."<br />
<br />
"Hold on. You have small children?"<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
"So, who is watching them while you are out here?"<br />
<br />
"Um, a friend."<br />
<br />
"Do you pay her?"<br />
<br />
"She is kind enough to do it for fre..."<br />
<br />
"Why haven't you gone to a food bank? There is a great one on (and I listed a few addresses), plus, they'll help you with child care, clothing and a place to live."<br />
<br />
"Well, I can't leave my kids alon..."<br />
<br />
"Bring them with you! And, Macy's is hiring--with benefits!" (cheery smile)<br />
<br />
"SO, LADIES AND GENTL..."<br />
<br />
"If I may interject, don't give her a dime. She's a pro." Men put their wallets away, she was glaring by that time.<br />
<br />
"Look, sweetie, if you want to beg instead of work...beg. But, don't use kids to get more money. That's just beyond wrong. I'll bet you make far more than the bulk of us on this train by peddling your lies. If you really want to work the trains, entertain me. Sing, play a comb and tissue paper, do SOMEthing....I'll hand over a hard earned dollar then. Otherwise, you need to STFU."<br />
<br />
She left among a spattering of applause. I'm not sure if I was listened to because I was a middle aged white woman instead of a young black man, but, I was listened to...and that is what counts.<br />
<br />
Yep, I'll miss the begger on the 2 train...<br />
<br />
<br />
....I don't think she'll miss me.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-64759121487060536902011-03-12T14:10:00.000-07:002011-03-12T14:10:46.781-07:00SS QuinI am having a difficult time resigning myself to my life right now.<br />
<br />
Yes, I am still in New York, a city I love and love being part of...yes, I found a place to live for the next couple of months--more than I expected to spend, but, with a budget, I can afford to live there....yes, I still have Sophie, and she is answering to her name again.<br />
<br />
I feel adrift.<br />
<br />
There is nothing to really hold me down in one place or another--don't get me wrong, I miss my children and the little ones very much, and I look forward to seeing them again. It is a sense of not belonging anywhere, a sense of not feeling connected to any person, a sense of longing for something--and I don't know what that something is or could be or if it will show up.<br />
<br />
I do not feel a failure--I do feel I've failed in some things in life. I could have been a better wife, a better mother, a better friend, a better child...I wasn't. There are times I feel I'm dancing as fast as I can, and there is no one to watch no one to care. <br />
<br />
I yearn for the knowledge someone holds me as beloved. A knowledge that person doesn't exist, and I can do nothing to change that fact.<br />
<br />
There are times I feel I could close my eyes and not wake up and be okay with that event. No, I've no desire to make that happen--it is simply the understanding I feel adrift.<br />
<br />
And there isn't a dock in sight.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-37450479541703810592011-03-06T12:10:00.001-07:002011-03-06T12:15:18.370-07:00New York State of MindI totally believe you are either a New Yorker or you aren't.<br />
<br />
It doesn't matter if you were born here...what matters is (to quote Billy Joel) The New York State of Mind. It's something that occurs the moment you set foot here, whether visiting or starting university or driving through--you have it or you don't. <br />
<br />
The first time I came here long ago, I knew. Sure, I was on a holiday of sorts--the ex and I were to be guests on Phil Donahue--and we'd been flown out. I knew. I knew I'd end up here, I just wasn't sure how or when. My ex worried his pocket would be picked when we rode the train the first time...I worried I'd not see enough people to marvel at when we did. I still recall the woman who chatted away with me until her stop...as she left, she turned and said, "Twenty years on this train and you are the first time I've spoken to anyone." I hope she continued chatting from then on when she traveled back and forth.<br />
<br />
Forward to a few years ago, and the move was made. I've never regretted a moment of any of my time in New York, in spite of low times and odd people and worries about everything from money to health. It makes me feel whole. I feed on the energy and occasionally still cry when I see the skyline at dusk, brilliant against a darkening sky. <br />
<br />
Being a New Yorker isn't just knowing the train lines--hearing a tourist say they need to go somewhere, and automatically knowing where they have to transfer, which train goes where. It's not even working here or having an apartment. It's this thing inside, it's a pulse...a knowledge you are part of a place that is unique in it's sameness of every big city. It's knowing how to live on a shoestring budget--of living in a walk up or a sublet or a studio apartment...and, if you are a well versed New Yorker, you've done all three--often at the same time. It is working hard at one or two jobs at once....it's living off cheap food, not dining out every night. It's the appreciation of the streets and the dialects and the rivers and the bums and the people who merge with you on the train and the sidewalks. It is the cacophony of cars and music and sirens that lull you to sleep at night. It is the almost overwhelming brilliance of neon in Times Square when you walk out of the train station. It is knowing that two sugars in a coffee will be heaping spoonfuls. That the best coffee is found in a cart early in the morning, when you dash balancing the cup, your bag and an umbrella into the station, your metrocard held in your teeth. It is telling a tourist the best way to see Lady Liberty is by riding the Staten Island Ferry. It is knowing each neighborhood by it's scent--Chinatown with the sharp smell of spices, SoHo and 5th Ave by the smell of money. Being a New Yorker is one of two groups, really--those who live plush and those who scurry and dash and live in a whirl of life. <br />
<br />
I'd love to have some great job where I have benefits and not have to worry about rent or if I'll eat by the end of the month. I'd love to have a doorman apartment with an elevator and be terribly smug. I'd love to eat what I want, not what I can afford. With that said, I'm happier with my jobs that allow me to meet people I'd never meet otherwise. I don't pretend I'm setting trends or that my coolness factor must be announced to all. I'm content with my small apartments and my subletting and my occasional walk-up. Sure, I'll miss an elevator, but, not enough to sell out for another one.<br />
<br />
I like stopping by food carts and chatting and having the vendor put extra salad on my plate because he likes my smile. I enjoy every train trip, every walk on the street, every person I see or talk to on those trains or those sidewalks. I wear my rain boots bought in a shop where I bargained the price down. I enjoy my pieces of furniture snagged from the curb or in a moving sale. I participate in events in my city, visit museums, welcome friends and family with open arms to enjoy all of this with me. I take pride in the fact very few people I interact with here don't believe it when I say I wasn't born here, because my vibe is New York.<br />
<br />
I am, indeed, a New Yorker. My body wasn't born here, my spirit was. I suspect I'll be back and forth here for the rest of my life, relishing every second I am in the city limits. Be it Brooklyn or Harlem or the Bronx or Manhattan or even Staten Island--I dwell in a New York State of Mind.<br />
<br />
Come see me here--you'll love it.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-33279360529065997402011-03-02T10:50:00.002-07:002011-03-02T11:46:10.727-07:00Sometimes, the Universe Reminds YouThe last six weeks have been pretty horrific.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, I found myself in a war of which I wanted no part. I am the first to say I am difficult at times, my various quirks and such can make me edgy or emotional. I do my best to control it all, take my meds, and believe I will work my way through those rough spots. <br />
<br />
After almost three months of two jobs, a cold that developed into bronchitis and laryngitis and then full fledged pneumonia (no insurance. yay!), leaving me sick and weak and in tears at times, I finally, <i>finally </i>started feeling myself for the first time since I'd moved back to NYC. I had my friends, people I enjoyed, the upcoming visit to my family in Silverstone--all of that kept my days light, in spite of a fairly rough job. I wasn't always cheery after 16 hours of work and long commutes and being kept awake by my constant coughing, the pain in my chest.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, there came accusations and unkind words and complete defamation of character--I was told I was untrustworthy, stupid, unemployable, a "...sitcom with no laugh track", an emotional fuckup. And, those where the nicer things said. This was presented to me by someone who revels in the fact they create their own chaos--I guess creating your own chaos negates you from having to accept responsibility for the lives you fuck up in that creation. <br />
<br />
I've dealt with someone who isn't a nice person--not an asshole as they claim to be proud of being--an asshole is interesting, this person? Not so much. The vast daily consumption of hard alcohol contributes to the version of the world they live in, where they are never wrong, never have to make amends, never have to say "Sorry" when an accusation is proved unfounded and incorrect. It's not something I can continue with in my life, the narcissism, the conversations held that were monologues of their life--laughing admittance of how a certain 'friend' had been written about in a 'fictional piece''--in spite of direct quotes from that friend's blog--because they were a tease and a cunt. When confronted by the written about friend, the entire story bragged about as being based on the 'friend' was put down to 'coincidence', and the 'friend' was just paranoid. There were the many times of insisted upon sharing of details on visits to masseuse who offered more than a back-rub... and how they allowed a grope and squeeze for a bigger tip. Wait. What? How is this something you brag about? That you take advantage of women who, more than likely, are in debt to the person who brought them to this country. Whom, I am sure, don't exactly find their work a place that they are proud of in any way, shape or form. I cringed when details on a 'sexting' session were given out...even though this woman, too, was given the cunt label. Misogynist comments to say the least. I was told my 'energy' was stopping their 'mojo'--mojo? Huh??? I'm stopping you from dating? Good grief. I was suddenly in my own personal '<i>Gaslight'</i> film. My wrong in all of this was not saying, "You need to be quiet, and not tell me any of that." I didn't. Decision made, consequence given. I accept my part in this.<br />
<br />
I've had things said about me in print and in person that are so very, very incorrect....that are pure lies. I guess it comes to the throw enough mud, and with luck, some will stick. I don't understand this mindset, this behaviour.<br />
<br />
Being in Silverstone with Loo and MB and EH and the delightful group of family ad friends there helped me a great deal in recovering my sense of self. Being surrounded by love and friendship and truthfulness gave me strength. Friends contacting me offering things that I worried about being able to provide--all of this has shored my self esteem. It allows me to regret how I dealt with some of my decisions, it allows me to know I'm not the low lying fucktard I was being told I was... I gained my perspective back. Conversations with a dear friend who is also a specialist in rehabs allowed me to face the sad fact I was, indeed, dealing with an alcoholic (self admitted one) and their not so clear version of the world. People who are abusive, find glee in creating problems, avoid every shitpile they create, and who are generally unhappy individuals with emotional gaps in their lives. <br />
<br />
The last piece of my wall of love came from <a href="http://www.expatcooks.com/">Amanda Barnes</a>. She was interviewed and featured in <a href="http://www.issuu.com/oryxmags/docs/wt_march_2011">Women Today</a>. I read her interview with great pleasure--she is one of the most interesting people I know, and, like Loo--a sister of my heart.<br />
<br />
When asked who she was inspired by in life, she said it was....<br />
<br />
<br />
....me. <br />
<br />
She said I was her personal cheer-leader and her description of me as loyal and honest and that everyone needs a me in their life... that I was someone who would push you to be all you could be, and have your back every step of the way.<br />
<br />
Added to the comment by HRH that people like me put the 'humane' into 'humanity' and that she is proud of me... me! These women make me who I am... they are the reason I can shut the door on a friendship that bore not a single resemblance to the definition of friend, to accept my part in this and realise regardless of what I did, the outcome would not have changed because of the immovable object I am dealing with currently.<br />
<br />
I always say that friends are family of your heart, and both heart and blood family keep you honest, keep you sane, keep you remembering you are worth love and friendship and that you can carry on.<br />
<br />
I love you all forever.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-1271422692491756442010-09-09T10:59:00.000-06:002010-09-09T10:59:34.488-06:00Three More WeeksI've got three weeks left here, then, I'm gone again--12th move in four years.<br />
<br />
But<br />
<br />
This move makes me very happy... this move was planned... this move takes me back to NYC. I will miss my weekly visits with my two daughters and my grandchildren. I will miss our chats and having my mother here, and all of us bonding. I will miss that far more than I thought I would.... in exchange, I'll have some friends in NYC, my niece in Brooklyn, a good friend sharing my space and Sophie.<br />
<br />
It's a year in the city, after that, I suspect I'll come back to Colorado and settle down... but, in that last year?<br />
I plan on exploring and listening and watching and living as much as I can.<br />
<br />
And writing it all here.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-34984634272073973652010-06-02T12:20:00.006-06:002010-06-02T20:15:33.640-06:00DadDear Dad,<br />
<br />
You'd have been 83 today. Imagine that, 83!! I still miss you every day--I don't have the guilt I bore for so long, wondering if I'd done enough, if I'd been a good daughter....since living with Miss Ruby, I felt I had done all I could do at the time for you...I regret we didn't have the chance to live together again as we planned, when the kids had moved out. Only a few more months, and we'd have had that happen. You've missed a lot... graduations and HRH's wedding (she wanted you to walk her down the aisle)... Miss H and her kind ways, Zori's<span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% yellow;"></span> birth (you'd be amused by her)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaLe20f1iLBnp1kgdDkJ0ws0snKEMVOWqETpEcUCdokl16g_XW0uAtjRjREp4iX87XiE62mJguG9CoCVt0BtoUbrw3pnqKk1dRDaC-gBREctfdgWuCnL_X0yklKryqUNPvsLVgNObZn1G/s1600/zori2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaLe20f1iLBnp1kgdDkJ0ws0snKEMVOWqETpEcUCdokl16g_XW0uAtjRjREp4iX87XiE62mJguG9CoCVt0BtoUbrw3pnqKk1dRDaC-gBREctfdgWuCnL_X0yklKryqUNPvsLVgNObZn1G/s200/zori2.jpg" width="150" /></a></div> and Jarhead leaving the service with his stripes and now working hard, making a name for himself in the film industry, his work ethical and honest. TheInvestment growing up, becoming a man, still as witty as his Papaw...and, I believe one day he will be as noble. Zenmaster getting engaged, his wedding on the way. Adds and 'Kenna remain in California... we are again in touch with each other. You wanted to know them better--I wish you had. Mother and I are finally friends...and that gives me great joy. <br />
<br />
We all miss you, more than I can say.<br />
<br />
I envy HRH....she dreams of you, finding peace there. I seldom have you visit me, and I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I feel you at peace, though. Your personal things are divided... I did keep the bulk of them, however, I feel no wrong in that. Your ring is on my chain around my neck, it keeps you close.<br />
<br />
I gave your theater books to Oddship. He also has your St. Joseph's bean... and he treasures those things. You'd like him, I think. <br />
<br />
Then, there is this little one. Like you, he enjoys eating. For now, unlike you, he's not too discriminating on what he eats. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYFAtv6i73VO9CClTWfjOZb-aX_g09Xbfk5bde_uE-U9bEamIdYY9rwDUF1ocGnsTxO-33bFrHn7uMX_LJDQPmHmXiSOaJv22rMO4FoeFoKobhdAcbeKIGsan4sH25YOVUeW_ltdXFGFB/s1600/0602001029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYFAtv6i73VO9CClTWfjOZb-aX_g09Xbfk5bde_uE-U9bEamIdYY9rwDUF1ocGnsTxO-33bFrHn7uMX_LJDQPmHmXiSOaJv22rMO4FoeFoKobhdAcbeKIGsan4sH25YOVUeW_ltdXFGFB/s200/0602001029.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>He'd have stolen your heart--and you'd have loved him.<br />
<br />
Odd for me to say that--I feel you love him from where you are now. You still <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">watch</span> over us, love us, guide us.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Happy Birthday, Dad. Wish you were here.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-28294406982737620482010-05-29T10:05:00.001-06:002010-05-29T11:33:15.896-06:00Miss Ruby: 1924-2010It has taken me some time to absorb all that occurred over the month of April.<br />
<br />
Time went on in it's usual way, with Miss Ruby and I settled in over the winter. I'd taken a trip in February, one much needed, to see my dear Laura and her children in the UK. I called daily to talk to Miss Ruby, to see how she was... and always, her Southern voice would as, "When are you coming <i>home?</i>?" I brought her chocolate and treats and hugs and from there, we went back to our little routine.. one that slowly changed as her strength failed.<br />
<br />
She savored the bi-weekly visits of Zee and HRH. She oohed! and ahhed! over the daily photos sent to my phone of his progress. She read and drank her coffee and listened to CNN, while her body continued to fail.<br />
<br />
By the mid-March, she'd lost all strength in her legs, and we moved on to using the wheelchair full time to transport her about. No more showers--it became a daily bath while she sat on the toilet, dignified even then. We'd laugh and talk and I'd bathe her, put lotion on her, brush her hair. By the end of March, I had to tell her no more pants of any kind... I simply couldn't pull them up while holding her with one arm. She took it graciously, and I bought her pretty housecoats (as my Mamaw called them)... little lady numbers that buttoned up the front, in a variety of pastels--the bulk of them in pink.<br />
<br />
I had to bring in the aide full time... it was too difficult for just me to move her anymore; she'd gone to complete dead weight. We had an aide that was a horror... good to Miss Ruby, deliberate in her attacks on me. She left.... keying my car as a final good-bye.<br />
<br />
April came, I bought her pansies, potted them and brought them inside. I could see her lack of interest in life, her desire to sleep more and more, the reduced output from her bladder. Kidney failure loomed.<br />
<br />
April 13th, she declined to get out of her bed.....I changed her and bathed her and dressed her and cranked the bed up so she could read and have her coffee. She didn't turn on the TV, refused food, slept. By Thursday, I knew she'd not ever rise again. Hospice came out, assessed her, told me what to do. She was in renal failure, and it was simply a matter of time. Very little time.<br />
<br />
Saturday, we went through our new routine.... waking up, bathing, changing, dressing.... she asked for my Mother and two of her friends to come visit the next day. I'd already called them, told them it was the end.. plans had been made for company. She asked me, "When is our baby coming to visit?" I replied, "Wednesday." She thought... "Hmmm, I think maybe they had better come up tomorrow."<br />
<br />
She knew.<br />
<br />
Her wit remained sharp. On that Saturday, I announced after rubbing my legs, "You can tell how active a woman's sex life is by the length of her leg hair." She laughed and tutted me. The next day, when I came down after my shower, she asked where had I been. "Showering, remember?" "Well, yes, but, you took so long!" I proceeded to say I had shaved my legs--and before I could finish the sentence with "....because I finally bought a razor", she grinned at me, and said, "Ohhh!! Hoping to get lucky?"<br />
<br />
Sunday was a day of homemade coconut cake, putting her pearls on so she could receive company, chairs in her room. I'd already dug out a number of her plants from the garden, repotting them and placing them so she could see them no matter where she looked. Her nephew by marriage, who made sure she was well cared for and protected, called me. "She's waiting for someone so she can go.", he said. I agreed, but, between us, we couldn't sort who it could be..who was she waiting for?<br />
<br />
HRH walked in with Zee around 1PM. Miss Ruby's face lit up. Her arms reached, slowly, shaking... "How is our little man?? Did he come to see his ladies??" Zee settled in next to her on the bed, where she tickled him, cooed to him, laughed when he'd break into his delight of a laugh. <br />
<br />
He was who she was waiting to see.<br />
<br />
Her breathing started to stutter that night. Hospice had me start giving her valium and morphine to settle her down. I was up most of the night, giving her the dose, sitting in the chair next to her bed. Finally, I slept from 4-6 AM. I went into her room, to give her the next dose of medicine. Her eyes were shut, and I slipped the dropper into her mouth. When the morphine hit her tongue, those baby blues flew open, startled. She frowned... I said, "Pretty nasty, eh?" She nodded, then, did what she'd do when I would tease her--bring her hand up as if she was going to strike me, then patting my cheek.<br />
<br />
I laughed with her, and then bent over to pull her into my arms. I put my face in her neck, in that place between neck and shoulder that holds a person's scent. "I love you so much." She kissed my cheek.... "Oh, you will never know how much I love you." <br />
<br />
She didn't want to be raised up that morning, no coffee, nothing. She didn't talk much after that either, telling me she preferred to sleep, "....I'm with Art then." I told her, holding her hand, whispering.... "Go with him. He loves you." She'd smile and go back under. She spoke one other time, when she opened her eyes, looked around her room and said to Mother, "This looks just like a room I use to have!".<br />
<br />
By Tuesday morning, it was a death watch. She was in an coma-- her brain stopped around 3PM, her body struggled on. She had seizures, when her eyes would open, blank and dark and empty. I'd hold her and soothe her, even though I knew there was no comprehension left. I think I did it for me. I was told to up her meds, to keep her calm. She had no pain, I knew what to look for--face scrunching, moans. <br />
<br />
Her blood family called, yelling at me, wanting to know if they could come to the house after she died, wanting to know if she'd changed her Will. I had to stop answering the phone... I was trying to help her die, and they were stopping me in my job.<br />
<br />
She died at 11.06PM, in my arms. I felt her heart take it's last beat, I saw her sink into that void of death, sensed the huge "WOOSH" of her leaving with Mr. Art. We bathed her, dressed her in a beautiful pink suit, and put her favourite hot pink fuzzy socks on her feet. Brushed her hair, put on her make-up, and I waited for the funeral home people. Hospice had come out--our nurse, Ali, was a rock for me. She took care of all the calls to coroners, the funeral home, other people. <br />
<br />
By 4AM, I was in bed, well medicated and falling asleep. By 6AM, I was awake again, fielding calls from the vultures, finally putting Caller ID on the phone so I could avoid their meanness.<br />
<br />
I went to NYC five days later... I needed the break. I saw a couple of people, sadly didn't see others, rushed everywhere, remember very little.<br />
<br />
I am in the house for six months... to help sort it out, prepare garages sales, etc. Her service is in July, when her garden will be in full bloom. We've had them set out a handful of ashes for me to put with her roses. The rest will go into the same grave as Mr. Art. Her headstone will read, 'Beloved', because she was just that. How many people can go through life knowing they were and felt that way towards another? <br />
<br />
The estate remains in limbo... the family fighting over things that meant little to her. She left me Pumpkin, the 16 year old spoiled rotten cat--oddly, no one is asking for her. Makes me smile.<br />
<br />
The photo below is her and Zee that Sunday... she does not look like a woman who died 48 hours later. Even with her loved ones about, she had a wall between us and herself... watching us. It was only with Zee that she fully engaged.<br />
<br />
I miss her. I have a hole in my life, and work now to fill it up. I'll move in October, more than likely to NYC. I have a trip to Qatar planned later in the same month, where I'll see one of my 'sisters'. I feed the cats and they all sleep with me, and the garden continues to blossom and grow.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Miss Ruby, for making me a better person, for giving me your trust and love and laughter. I will try to be like you... kind, generous, and wicked bad.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif0-dF05OTAC2F4_bMuK_3SSMIwGrN_xX5zk-HYiohuqrG0V3-Y8isIRffe7wCSNz7b1uDwJce9BHYGrLeDbz-izzoxO0S_qot4VklTZKkct4weADBNDe-_wZkGh69qUs0RmCa6G-cFMhj/s1600/2010-04-18+14.51.28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif0-dF05OTAC2F4_bMuK_3SSMIwGrN_xX5zk-HYiohuqrG0V3-Y8isIRffe7wCSNz7b1uDwJce9BHYGrLeDbz-izzoxO0S_qot4VklTZKkct4weADBNDe-_wZkGh69qUs0RmCa6G-cFMhj/s320/2010-04-18+14.51.28.jpg" /></a></div>Love you forever.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-48561094921828763872010-03-16T10:54:00.002-06:002010-03-16T11:00:58.131-06:00and in the end....i'm at a place in my life where i'm no longer able to find anything to write about in this blog.<br /><br />it started as a way to tell friends and family back in the land o'utes how life was in new york, so i'd not have to write long emails to everyone.<br /><br />because of this blog, i've made a number of people i honestly call friend. i've traveled to new york, back to utah, to new york, visited england, discovered neville and margaret, went to some great gatherings with fellow bloggers... it's all been a great time.<br /><br />now, i have nothing to write about, to be truthful. my days are so similar, i often forget what day of the week it is--not once, but, quite often.<br /><br />so, i'm going dark for a bit... perhaps life will change, i'll find things that catch my eye and my ear and make me feel great joy when i write of those things. right now, that isn't going to happen. the biggest things i find are seeing the grandson, worrying about his kidney problems and taking care of miss ruby.<br /><br />i will post the final chapter to neville and margaret... then, it's quiet time for a bit.<br /><br />thank you all, who read here, who comment, who have reached out to become a part of my life and who have honoured me with allowing me to become part of your own.<br /><br /><br />ciao.<br /><br /><br />my favourite photo of z (so far)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvdAKtv82UwENEE2SfiJUUWlr_uR-LTj005fPpcX4gQlVOd872ZfDFsp8A3AIQedKtmNyhGbmWBN7YuCfWpxfpgrIY20yL6jtg9gYfWCTeTog-8BV2sG7gXrjbOUnceZhXo4vfWt7cQPN/s1600-h/zavier+laughing.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvdAKtv82UwENEE2SfiJUUWlr_uR-LTj005fPpcX4gQlVOd872ZfDFsp8A3AIQedKtmNyhGbmWBN7YuCfWpxfpgrIY20yL6jtg9gYfWCTeTog-8BV2sG7gXrjbOUnceZhXo4vfWt7cQPN/s200/zavier+laughing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449277634268227394" border="0" /></a>quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-63808139674338201012010-02-19T08:55:00.003-07:002010-02-19T10:49:34.420-07:00the play carries on...<br /><br />working with a group of children this year--at least they know their lines and cues,bless 'em.<br /><br />i miss my chats with peggy and tim every day... i will be glad to be home for that reason alone. funny how you miss voices, isn't it?<br /><br />hrh sends daily photos of zavier... keeping me abreast of his growth and changing. i have bought him far too much stuff here.<br /><br />but, i can, so, there!<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">our neville fact:</span><br /><br /><br />mimsy (aka sondra) bought her house on london rd in the village, not a few miles from neville and margaret, but, where she'd pass their cottage daily. she's stroll slowly past, walking her yorkie, 'captain blackjack', and when she spied neville in the drive, powerwashing the cars, she'd wave and skitter over, batting her mabelline jet black mascara'd eyes. she'd spread her lips (coated in sugarplum pink) in a smile, sliding them over her teeth without leaving a bit of colour on her lips.<br /><br />at first, margaret would look out the lounge window, and tut at the brazenness of sondra, wondering when it was going to end, deciding it was best not to say anything, as neville really was clueless, and she saw no reason to direct his attention to sondra's wiles.<br /><br />it was after she and neville joined the silverstone 'silver shoes' morris dancing team, that things heated up. all the village knew margaret was scheduled for a bunion operation, and would be unable to participate in the county finals....it was then mim...sondra joined as an alternate, that margaret set her jaw, and went about dealing with the situation head on.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-7391201950267772172010-02-18T06:29:00.002-07:002010-02-18T06:41:26.845-07:00still chillin' --and neville is back!cold and snowing.<br /><br />inside, cups of tea, warm radiators and slippers take off the dampness... well, part of the dampness. the rest is held out by doors shut, steam from the kettle and left-over chinese from last night. <br /><br />tonight, we open our little play... and at the moment, we wonder if anyone will show, as quite a bit is expected. <br /><br />still, i'm content...if creatively blocked.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">our neville fact:</span><br /><br />last year, our neville and margaret went on a posh cruise with a number of their friends. one of the people they met was mimsy barker-smythe, from steeple-aston. mimsy insisted all call her sondra, as she felt this was a much better name, and fit her vision of herself. <br /><br />sondra found neville to be a wonderful partner in draughts--they won the ship contest, giving them a bottle of champagne and a trophy. neville kept the trophy, handing over the bottle of champers to sondra to share with her roommate and best mate, vivian miller. <br /><br />in the past year, sondra has continued to keep in touch with neville by email and currently on facebook. neville had started his facebook account to keep in touch with various friends from his old working days, and really didn't understand the entire thing. usually, he only played farmtown, something he enjoyed and excelled at doing. margaret usually handled his account--answering messages and doing the occasional post. <br /><br />thus, margaret found the more and more personal messages to neville from sondra. she was fully aware that neville had no thought to respond, and pooh-pooh'ed the entire thing.<br /><br />sondra, however, had neville on the mind... and fully planned on wooing him away from margaret. thus, when an opening at waitrose's appeared in the area here, she applied and received the job...and she bought a small semi-detached house in the village, putting her in neville's home area.<br /><br />margaret was not happy--not happy indeed.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></span>quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-62668543905301354022010-02-14T06:38:00.004-07:002010-02-14T06:45:22.369-07:00settlingi feel as if i've arrived home.<br /><br />almost a week here, and i'm finally catching my breath, catching up on sleep, catching myself drinking too much tea. and each of those things is perfection in my life right now.<br /><br />i call miss ruby every other day... she asks when am i home, that she misses me, the cats miss me, come home. i reassure her i'll be back, and that i have her big bag of cadbury's already purchased. my mother is staying with her (along with the 24 hour aide), so, she's safe.<br /><br />as for me... i'm finding my balance again, accepting i'm a bit depressed, looking forward to a trip to london next week.<br /><br />i'm posting another photo of our zavier.. why you ask?<br /><br />because i can.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfK6DNG_SzhpMZSqXWf_k9Z8CxmQrfdmyyael-9qKZAF1cUHUFILdzpMYrQnTgzbElzRo4S3HtmOXoBw6gJ7A_7VCsqxRPiwHgsxOAUglNqcC_PGhl_AykphQzdbnC1VgQIFa53Is-4IL6/s1600-h/13+feb+10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfK6DNG_SzhpMZSqXWf_k9Z8CxmQrfdmyyael-9qKZAF1cUHUFILdzpMYrQnTgzbElzRo4S3HtmOXoBw6gJ7A_7VCsqxRPiwHgsxOAUglNqcC_PGhl_AykphQzdbnC1VgQIFa53Is-4IL6/s200/13+feb+10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438094709816674306" border="0" /></a>quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-45447886115323653772010-01-26T10:16:00.007-07:002010-01-26T10:26:16.921-07:00noni quinhours of labor, an epidural and copious tears (mostly mine) later.... we have our boy.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaV5hkmxMtLzl6YeqiPmdmw0GC-0Qv5RVG9NAFz9mxBCSmx3YZBViHch1BO6-z95H6iZw0Igxgs3tydonWr3sgcJpgW2ZF4-4dPdNOe7cQWwv2GHJ-qXI26VNDM2CPGyfSz5t5OZ_UlIbL/s1600-h/Photo0140.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaV5hkmxMtLzl6YeqiPmdmw0GC-0Qv5RVG9NAFz9mxBCSmx3YZBViHch1BO6-z95H6iZw0Igxgs3tydonWr3sgcJpgW2ZF4-4dPdNOe7cQWwv2GHJ-qXI26VNDM2CPGyfSz5t5OZ_UlIbL/s200/Photo0140.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431099988986905026" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />zavier joseph was born on 21 january 10 at 11.14pm. he weighed 8lbs 10.6ozs and is 21.5 inches long. hrh did a great job, assisted by her husband who coached her right through. the waiting room contained her father, theinvestment and me. i spent the last hour hovering outside her door, flinching with each moan she put forth. the doctor announced, "baby boy, 11.14pm" and....<br /><br />....silence.<br /><br />my heart stopped. we all leaned forward, listening... and there it was! his cry. with that sound, i fell in love before i even saw his face.<br /><br />his kidney is still not functioning properly, however, the other one is working perfectly. he is a binky boy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsni82uATmcyAAlFfSFvsrZg0Q-8aCSPIMIDoHO0eQ4QPg3Fe9jmHF5DYE2wdgsZPDwSWGOj6h12IgAE_FLAKwOfDnIuxw4_xpBoRIzWGzx8z5yGy50zv0WmyEQ8UPL-NZ3PbunZC1R1iM/s1600-h/0125001058.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsni82uATmcyAAlFfSFvsrZg0Q-8aCSPIMIDoHO0eQ4QPg3Fe9jmHF5DYE2wdgsZPDwSWGOj6h12IgAE_FLAKwOfDnIuxw4_xpBoRIzWGzx8z5yGy50zv0WmyEQ8UPL-NZ3PbunZC1R1iM/s200/0125001058.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431100101193451026" border="0" /></a> (like his mom and uncles) and is loved to death.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />miss ruby cried when i told her he was born... and enjoys the daily updated photos as much as i do. i have come to realise... i am one of those people who insists you look at photos of her grandchild.<br /><br /> i'm good with that.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkpcm6IGIKeX6REBUaDZkNKSGQ_aLOkg0TdQr_5aRsvW6JWckKHYTCV5uAC9LrPxm54vKdlaHvFAbrCtuHD3Mcrra9VKbgznFPIPfqXyfv85Ws6IXR2_06R8EJYYEGqCcVtoRZuVNHqAt/s1600-h/zavier.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkpcm6IGIKeX6REBUaDZkNKSGQ_aLOkg0TdQr_5aRsvW6JWckKHYTCV5uAC9LrPxm54vKdlaHvFAbrCtuHD3Mcrra9VKbgznFPIPfqXyfv85Ws6IXR2_06R8EJYYEGqCcVtoRZuVNHqAt/s200/zavier.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431100301105609634" border="0" /></a><br />he's flexing his guns.<br /></div>quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-63899765720715125512010-01-08T20:11:00.007-07:002010-01-10T18:33:58.519-07:00birth and deathit's been a month since i posted something--i suspect it is due to the sameness of days.<br /><br />the holidays passed without much fanfare... i live here at miss ruby's now, and, i found the two main people in my world at this point are on parallel roads in life.<br /><br />miss ruby and hrh move with slower and slower steps. each changed how they eat. each one listens with an inner ear to some voice we do not hear. hrh waits impatiently for the birth of her son, miss ruby waits patiently for her body to finally fail, giving her birth into that next place of our existence.<br /><br />hrh sat next to me in the theater on christmas day, holding my hand on her ever moving tummy...our little lad slowly flipping and twisting, trying to fit his already over average body size in her tiny self. miss ruby sat next to me later that day, holding my hand, telling me she knows her husband still watches for her from the other side...she knows this because he put us back in each other's lives again.<br /><br />i agree.<br /><br />hrh rests more and more, taking cat naps during the day. miss ruby's sleep time is now around 15 hours a day. while hrh is up quite often in the night, finding it difficult to fall back into sleep, miss ruby lies down and doesn't change position for the 12 hours she sleeps in the night.<br /><br />they both take pills... vitamins for hrh, a plethora of pills of varying shapes and sizes for miss ruby. both have that look of waiting on their faces.<br /><br />both have me in their lives, waiting with them, loving, caring, concerned. a birth and a death. these two things wait to happen in my life...<br /><br />two things that will change my life forever, each in their own way.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-56124346213227584122009-12-05T10:35:00.003-07:002009-12-05T10:45:47.249-07:00young love?a week or so ago, miss ruby and i took our weekly trip to 'death's door beauty salon'.<br /><br />along the way, waiting at a stop light, as we were chatting and enjoying the warmth of the day, i noticed a teen-aged couple walking along, coming toward us. it was obvious they were arguing, the body language, the sharp turn of her head from him as his mouth moved. suddenly, he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him. she jerked it out of his hold, moving faster... he came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her to hold her in place--her foot kicked backwards to remove him from her space.<br /><br />so it went, him becoming more aggressive in his physicality, her becoming more agitated.<br /><br />i pulled over next to them, into a parking lot they were cutting through... i stopped so quickly, miss ruby moved forward in her seat belt... in one movement it seemed, i threw the car into park and had the door opened and i was outside the car...<br /><br />"stop that. don't touch her again. miss? would you like a ride home?"<br /><br />they both stopped and stared at me as if i were from a different planet... perhaps i was in their world... he said, "she's fine."<br /><br />"she doesn't look fine. miss? i'm more than glad to give you a ride." with this, miss ruby waved at her from the car.<br /><br />"no, i'm fine. we're fine. it's none of your business."<br /><br />"actually, it is. you don't have to do this."<br /><br />she stared at me, giving me that look teens give when they are faced with the stupidity of adults. they both turned away and walked off, suddenly holding hands, walking close together, glancing back at the new adversary they could dislike together.<br /><br />and, i wondered... how many times had it happened? was she used to that behaviour? has she seen it in her life?<br /><br />no answers, nothing more than a sense i've seen something that will escalate until she's either very hurt or finds that place in her heart that will allow her to be brave enough to leave.<br /><br />i hope it's the second, and i hope it happens soon.<br /><br />very, very soon.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-23161729134501296592009-11-19T11:24:00.002-07:002009-11-19T11:30:57.803-07:00moving alongwe've had snow.<br /><br />lots of snow. tons of snow. in just two storms, we've had over three feet of snow, which i hope isn't going to be the pattern the rest winter.<br /><br />i've moved into miss ruby's house now, living here six days a week, taking 24 hours off every week. my mother has (thankfully) moved back to mississippi, so, we are both content here at home with the cats. sophie has discovered she is not queen of the world here, pumpkin is, and reminds sophie on a regular basis with a sharp slap to the head.<br /><br />miss ruby hangs in there, some days are good..some, like yesterday when she thought to get out of bed by herself, landing on the floor...aren't. we prepare for thanksgiving, neither of us thrilled with the holiday--for her, it is the first one after the death of her husband--for me, the reminder of my dad's death.<br /><br />mostly, we watch cnn, chat, take care of business. our days and weeks are set around various routines and appointments. she gets her hair done at 'death's door beauty salon', and i do shopping for the house. <br /><br />tuesday, she'll be 85. it's the fourth anniversary of my dad's death. i tend to not look at the actual date, but, remember it was thanksgiving day. we'll go out to lunch, her and me and the wheelchair, and pretend all is well.<br /><br />pretense works sometimes...quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-53237692684874986542009-10-25T10:27:00.003-06:002009-10-25T10:47:35.457-06:00nothing is different, everythings the sameit's cold and wet and spitting snow outside.<br /><br />inside, i am warm and cozy and can still taste my breakfast bacon... nothing is better than bacon in the morning. except coffee... nothing is better than coffee in the morning. except waking up...waking up is the best thing about the morning.<br /><br />miss ruby is now confined to a wheelchair, to her great dismay. she's fallen twice now on my watch...once when she attempted to get up from her chair without calling me, once when i stood right next to her while she was in the walker. her legs simply stopped being legs and over she went.<br /><br />both times, because of where she ended up, i had no choice but to dead lift her off the ground in one pull.... the first time i heard something pop in my already operated on right knee... the second confirmed i've done something, as i get those waves of teeth on edge pain you have with a problem with your knee.<br /><br />she and i had been looking outside, planning her spring garden, discussing plants and what would take up the least amount of room... i've agreed to zuchini (which i hate) and she's allowing me one pumpkin plant.<br /><br />the outside cat has a new home... she had me go purchase one of those insolated dog kennel things so it will be toasty during the cold winter months. he still greets me with a "meowHISSHISSmeow", so, i'm never sure if i should trust the sweet meow or the nasty hissing.<br />i go with putting his food out, and shutting the door. no touching him, i've no idea what he carries or what he has or if he'll shred my arm.<br /><br />hrh had her baby shower last weekend... she is quite the preggers gal now, although she still wears the same tops for the most part.. she is all baby, my baby.<a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=6859302&id=536475345" id="myphotolink"><img id="myphoto" src="http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs212.snc1/7928_279568735345_536475345_8619066_5682692_n.jpg" style="" /></a>the baby is huge inside her, at six months, you can see him roll under her tummy... there is simply no room. since he's already at the 80% of his size, i am not planning on buying any newborn clothes. she continues to insist she will do this drug free.<br /><br />yeah, have fun with that.<br /><br />mother managed to insult--well, i'm not sure how many people--in one comment that day. looking over at the ex's girlfriend (who is very, very kind to my children...earning her kudos) and said, to hrh, and in front of the girlfriend's daughter, "cant' your daddy find a better looking girlfriend? even your momma is better looking!"<br /><br />thanks so much.<br /><br />aside from that, i spend my days here, still, putting in 70-84 hours a week. the jarhead is coming for a visit on wednesday, giving me more than a couple of hours in two years... he is currently working with my brother in la, and still thinking about re-upping.<br /><br />i don't think so, son.<br /><br />i have internet, as i mentioned... i am trying to catch up on blogs and on writing and it's a long backlog.<br /><br />thanks again to those who read, who comment, who care.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-75821199750802534282009-10-24T15:57:00.001-06:002009-10-24T15:58:48.248-06:00sunday scribblings~REDIRECToops!!<br /><br />please seen the sunday scribblings contribution <a href="http://quinbrowne-words.blogspot.com/2009/10/sunday-scribblingsshame.html">here.</a>quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6221810884118399061.post-2848939820988141782009-10-17T14:17:00.002-06:002009-10-17T14:25:09.466-06:00saturday<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">indian</span> summer reigns.<br /><br />the roses are trimmed, the heat is turned on, the patio furniture and planters put away for winter. miss ruby watches me from her window, giving me more jobs to do whenever i come inside. she's rallied a bit, although we are using the wheelchair almost full time now, to get her around. she scowls at the night nurses, scolding me for not staying full time. as it is, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">i'm</span> here 70+ hours a week... staying, even five days, would bring me to over 100. she's good with that, she said. <br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">i've</span> kept to her request to only shop at whole foods... one good thing about that place is, i can go in baggy sweat pants and a long-sleeved <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">tshirt</span> that has seen better days, and i fit right in. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">i've</span> discovered you can buy hemp milk (no, really) and that patchouli is the pervading scent from both patrons and the shelves. you can even buy shampoo and soap that ree..smel..are scented with this, um, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">fragrance</span>? i feel out of place with my rose soap scent on my skin and your basic clean smelling hair. still, the dress code remains acceptable--<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">i'll</span> keep going there.<br /><br />we've put the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">internet</span> in, so, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">i'll</span> be able to start catching up on reading and posting... i look forward to the first more than the second.<br /><br />i hear her calling.quin brownehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804746948797234402noreply@blogger.com5