Wow.  You won't believe this, but I completely forgot that I had this blog!  Then, when I remembered it, I couldn't find it! 

Anyway, I'm back!

I am now the published author of five books, with the sixth on it's way.  My books have been insanely popular and my writing has given me a whole new life.  Please (please, please, pretty please) check these out on Amazon.com or in any store that sells books!

Old Friends, Old Flames, Old Enemies

I found my current husband via an internet search engine, and have reconnected with dozens of people that I'd either forgotten completely or always wondered about. Prodigy (in the old days), MySpace and Facebook have made fading into obscurity very difficult to do.

That's spiffy, until the monsters start showing up on your page. A few days ago, I picked up a cup of coffee and signed on to read the usual inane posts and twitters only to have my customary bemused smile replaced by a shocked and gaping maw. The "Anti-Christ" had left a post on my wall! My "Arch Nemesis," the "Monster-Under-My-Bed," the "Six-Headed Hydra" that had prowled the halls of my childhood with only one goal in mind. . . my complete and utter anihilation. A flush of foreboding that I hadn't experienced since graduating high school filled me like icewater and condensed on my face and neck in a thin film.

I was grateful that she hadn't posted a profile photo -- which had to be hideous beyond words after all these years, though her name could have been scrawled in gore and it wouldn't have had any more impact.

"What the Hell?" I'm sure I said it out loud.

The "Creature's" post hadn't even been directed at me, but to one of my new (old school) friends. It was written in English, which was a surprise coming from the Beast, who to my knowledge had only been in command of an obscure dialect of "Bitch-Whore-Bully-Beast," heretofore.

She had written, "I seen that movie! It was grate!"

I closed my mouth. It was dry and tasted like feet. I read the line again.

"I seen that movie! It was grate!"

Definitely English, though misspelled. Clearly evolution had taken place over the last thirty years. I signed off and stared at my monitor. My coffee was cold. There had been little ripples on the surface, and I realized that my hands were trembling.

It never ceases to amaze me just how sharp a memory can be. One after another, they followed me to the sink as I dumped my coffee. The Xs drawn over my breasts on a white blouse that I had to wear through crowded halls to the nurse's office where I borrowed a t-shirt. The spit balls that stung my face, arms, and back as the school bus drove past on my walk home. Having my books knocked out of my hands; being tripped in the halls, pushed up and down stairs. . . I shivered.

As silly as it sounds, I was still wincing at flashbacks two days later. It was much simpler to block her name from my account than to block it from my psyche.

And, some people wonder why kids go berserk and strike back at these Demons-In-Teen-Clothing?

Who would I have been if that witchwitha "b" had grown up in Norway instead of Silver Spring? Would I have married a man who controlled, belittled and abused me when I was 19? Would I have grown to like myself? Felt comfortable (as people say) in my own skin?

There are those who would want to exact revenge, and others who would demand an apology. I am content to build another addition to my (considerable) fortress and hope that "It" never sprouts fins and flukes and crosses the moat again.

Parenting vs. Sanity

I have three friends (all in their 50's) who have never had children. Their lives seem so unruffled. They have plenty of money to travel to interesting places. Their sanity remains intact.

Those of us who made the decision to "be fruitful and multiply," must open our eyes each morning to a new pang. Our hearts are beating in the chests of our offspring as well as our own, and there is rarely peace. We must weigh our words and actions so carefully, tread so lightly, know when to help and when to stand back and hold our breath. We question our methods, debate every decision, and worry. Lots of worry.

Our genetics are to blame when they are sick. Our poor parenting skills must have caused them to be slow to mature, or unable to clean up after themselves, or to lack the confidence and social skills to find a mate. It was all much simpler when they were just baby dolls in Fisher Price strollers -- just dreams for the future; the fantasy family of a little girl who believed that loving them with all her heart would be enough.

My childless, peaceful friends have lived their whole lives in a state of ignorant bliss. But, isn't that a bit like eating a bread sandwich? Where's the meat and cheese? The lettuce, tomato, onion and mayo? All of the things that give life it's flavor and fullness are missing from their experience on this earth. Some chose to be childless, and others did not, but the ache to be divided and angst-ridden must live somewhere in their chests? Don't you think?

Pets In The Workplace

I've smuggled my sugar glider, Beau, into the office four or five times over the last few weeks. If you don't know this about gliders, they power-sleep during the day and don't want anything more than a cozy, dark pocket to snuggle up in. Most of the time, nobody would suspect a thing.

It sounds silly, but just having him in my pocket made me happier.

I can see where allowing pets into the workplace could get out of hand. Allergies, odors, altercations, property damage, etc. But, I can't imagine how having a tiny sugar glider asleep in my pocket could be a problem for anyone? At the very least, there should be a "bring your pet to work day" on the national calendar.

So far, even though some of my co-workers have seen Beau, nobody has taken a hard line with me about his attendance. I'm trying to limit his visits to prevent being told that he isn't allowed in the building anymore.

Is there anybody out there who is allowed to take his/her dog, cat, or glider into work with them?

Welcome to Charity Fish

A hearty welcome to any who have wandered in! We all think we have things to say, right? I'm no exception. There is so much to "talk" about as we ride life's roller coaster through its virtual heavens and hells. Even those exhilarating plateaus in between the dips and rises have breathtaking views to elaborate upon. So, welcome to "Charity Fish."

A brief biography of the author would tell you that she is the mother of three grown children (and the "wicked" step-mom to four more). She has been married three times, was diagnosed with cancer three years ago, and has three wishes for her future:

1. Lots of grandchildren
2. Two sweet wives for her sons, Tom and Dan
3. A cure for cancer

Barring those, a couple of $million might suffice. But, that would be four wishes and nobody gets four.

She loves animals. There are two sugar gliders, "Beau" and "Sissy," and a yellow lab who is really white, named "Milky." (You are thinking that anyone who truly loved their dog would not have named him "Milky," but she loves milk and she adores her son, Tom -- who named the dog. . .). In the past, her home has been populated by ferrets, birds, fish, hamsters, cats, mice and dogs. Animals, because they love her back. Children, because she thought she could do it better than anyone else.

She types and makes pretty pictures for people who make lots of money by telling other people who make lots of money how to make more. She'd rather be at work than in the hospital, but she'd rather be home than at work.

See how much we have in common? And that is how friends are made.