In the Footsteps of History

I had one of those magical weekends that I really thought I needed to share--so I apologize that this post is picture-heavy!

For the first weekend in I don't know how long, I didn't have anything to do or anywhere I needed to run to--a rarity these days, especially with my sister being 8 months pregnant and so many baby-centric things I've been roped into by my mother. A completely free weekend, where I could chose exactly what I wanted to do. The freedom of it was pretty awesome and 2 weeks ago when I realized it, I knew I wanted to do something epic and not just sit at home. Another plus was my boyfriend also had the entire weekend free--which is rare for him as well as he usually picks up side-work on Saturdays. We've been going through a bit of a rough patch for the last month, and a weekend together and alone was something needed.

Won't lie, my first impulse was to head down the shore and soak up some beach-rays. Have only been down once this summer and my boyfriend hasn't at all. We have a mutual friend who has a house in Wildwood, who I knew would let us stay if I asked. Turns out, her house was already full for the weekend. Tried looking into hotels but everything was either way to expensive or you had to commit to a Thursday through Sunday rental--which we obviously didn't want/need/or could afford. So that was out.

We tossed around a few other ideas for day trips--Baltimore, New Hope, NYC, even just the shore for the day--but really couldn't decide. They all seemed pretty far out of the way and wouldn't have enough that we really wanted to see that would warrant the drive. That's when we decided on Gettysburg, PA.

 THE Gettysburg.

The sight of the bloodiest battle of the American Civil War and the decisive turning point for the Union Army. Over the course of July 1st thru the 3rd, 57,225 Americans died. Even more were wounded or captured.

The history of this area and what it meant to our country is a pretty big draw, but neither of us have ever been there. I'll be honest...I thought Gettysburg was in Virginia. I know, I'm a shame to my country and state of Pennsylvania! It always just seem so distant! And I didn't realize any Civil War battles were fought this far north--which Gettysburg is the major reason why they didn't.

So Gettyburg it was! We trekked the 2 1/2 hours south to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, for what I hoped would be a day filled with history and adventure.

We got up to Gettysburg around 12:30 and decided to go to the musuem first--to at least get a map of the area. Now you can pay to take a guided bus tour of all the battle sites but it costs $30 a person and they book up fast. Since we had no clue where we were going, we wanted to join one of these tours but found out the next one wasn't until 3:30--which we didn't want to wait around for. Instead, we decided to walk thru the musuem and figured we could be our own tour guides for the battlefields--"We have a map afterall with all the major sites. I'll figure it out," said my boyfriend.

It took us about 2 hours to get through everything inside. It was truly fascinating and a great history lesson. They had artifacts retrieved from the battlefield--including uniforms, personal affects, diaries, bullets, guns, parts of trees that were littered with bullet holes, pieces of civilian's houses with puncture wounds, coins, pictures of the soldiers and casualties, and newspaper clippings from the day--and other pieces of information that showed just how important this battle was in the course of the Civil War. They also had detailed maps and accounts about each day of the battle. It retrospect, I'm glad we did this first because it was a re-education before we saw the actual battlefield.

One of my favorite pieces that adorned the museum's walls

When we exited the musuem around 3 o'clock, the huge windows in front of us revealed it was pouring rain. Like buckets coming down. Was so pissed. The weather reports we had seen that morning had said nothing about rain until that night. So we decided to hunker down for a bit, get something to eat and hope it'd blow over. After about an hour, it slowed up a bit and we decided to brave the elements and at least attempt to see some of what we had driven 2 1/2 hours for.

Here are a few of the pictures I was able to take from the first battlefield we were able to get onto.

The cannons marked the places where actual cannons were placed during the battle. My boyfriend actually made a cannon himself, but it blew up over the winter. Here he is trying to get some design tips.

Each infantry was commemorated with it's own monument. This is for the New York Infantry. Was truly astounding how many of these there were--showing just how many were there to fight.

The monument commemorating the Commander of the Union Army during the battle of Gettysburg, Commander George Gordon Meade. His appointment is attributed to the success of the Union army. Felt like an ant standing next to this!

At this point, it started pouring again. So I retreated under a tree while my boyfriend ran to get our car and move it further down the road to another parking lot. By the time he got to me, I was soaked to the bone and in need of a hoodie! We waited in the car for about 20 minutes until the rain let up again. At that point, we decided to "screw it" and at least see the Gettysburg National Cemetery.  If we weren't going to see much else, that was the one thing we both wanted to see more than anything else. So we weather-proofed ourselves as much as possible and crossed the street into the cemetery.

It was eerily silent, although we weren't alone in the cemetery. It's as though the magnitude of the battle had set on to everyone beyond the gates and everyone gave the soldiers the respect they so deserved. I had constant chills with every step I took. Here are a few of the pictures I snapped.

The monument to commerorate the very spot where President Lincoln gave his most famous speech--the Gettysburg Address. 

These placards were placed before every mass grave site. It reads:

"The muffled drums sad roll has beat
The soldiers last tattoo.
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few."

Chills!

There were at least 9 of these throughout the cemetery.

The little white stones are actually markers, each numbered in a row. These were for mass graves that identities of soldiers could not be found for. The numbers went up into the thousands.

These were some of the many graves that lined the circumference of the cemetery--graves that actually had names and information associated with them. These were servicemen who died in action or served our country, but not in the Civil War. Most were from WWII and Vietnam. We were also a bit confused because it wasn't just servicemen but their families as well--and some family members died before their relative who served our country. We've been researching this for the past few days, trying to figure out how you can apply for a plot here and what are the regulations as far as non-militar, family members. If anyone has any information, please message me! Dying to find out.

"Rest on embalmed and sainted dead
Dear as the blood ye gave
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave."

Just this one area moved me beyond words. I felt myself tearing up and really tried to put myself back in that time. What it must've been like to live through something so horrific, or to see the massive amount of lives lost. It's a feeling I hope to have with me for years to come.

Miraculously, the weather seemed to have shifted once we were finished in the cemetery and we were able to continue to the other battlefields.

Now, going into this day I truly thought the Battle of Gettysburg started and was commenced on one field of battle, in a small plot of land. Once we turned to our trusty map to figure out where to go first, I realized I was sorely mistaken. The battle stretched across and all over the town--encompassing over 20 miles of land. I was truly dumbfounded when we started our tour--which the first battlefield we went to was actually the end--in chronological order of the events of July 1st, 2nd, and 3rd of 1863. The map we held guided us as if we, ourselves, were soldiers fighting--taking us right through each and every event of those 3 days. We in turn, got out of our car at every battle-point to marvel at the still virginal land and the monuments commemorating the events and people who fought and died there. It was moving to say the least, especially when each monument held record of how many people died there.

The tour took us right through the afternoon and well into the evening. Here are a few of my last shots of the day.

This is one of the last valley's before Little Round Top. From the cemetery, we saw a hazy mist hanging over this area all day. We figured maybe there was a reenactment going on here, and the mist was actually smoke from rounds being fired--I had heard buck shots from this area as well. When we finally got here, we were a little confused and then slightly scared when we got out of the car and read the pictured placard. This valley was one of the largest field hospitals used during the battle. The majority of the mortally wounded were brought here to receive treatment and also subsequently died in this field. The ground was littered with amputated limbs, bodies and blood. Needless to say, I did not want to linger in this area and I jumped out of my skin each and every time I heard a branch snap.

These pictures are from Little Round Top--the high-ground that the Union Army held for the entire Battle of Gettysburg. This was the stronghold of the Union Army and what the Confederates desperately tried to capture again and again. The Union's expert sharp-shooters were housed here and easily killed Confederates who were trapped in The Devil's Den, 500 yards down the hill. You could see the entire valley from this point, so it was easy to understand how important this location was for both armies.

By the time we finished with this site, it was well past 9 o'clock. We were only 3/4 of the way through the map and begrudgingly decided we needed to get on the road. We still had a long ride back to Philadelphia. With one last look into the valley, we headed back to our car and jumped onto Route 15 out of Gettysburg. We were both exhausted, but I think the ride home was silent for many other reasons. The enormity of all we had seen that day really hit a chord with both of us. The one thing I couldn't get over was just how organized and precise everything seemed to be. The fact that we know exactly who fought in each plot of land, specific names of soldiers and commanders, and the amount of people who died there blew my mind. It shows the amount of respect our country holds for battles like this and the people who served, that they give accurate information to all who visit. The fact that this entire area is still historically preserved and has changed very little since 1863--probably the only thing on the actual battlefields are the addition of asphalt roads and bathrooms every few miles--is also a testament to our country. This area could have easily been commercialized and sold off parcel by parcel to land developers, but it is hallow ground. This area is part of our American history and needs to be respected by all who tread on her soil.

It was truly amazing and something I will always remember. I already can't wait to go back and see the last half of the tour. There was so much left, and we hadn't even scratched the surface. If you are looking for a great getaway and need a destination, I'd wholeheartedly suggest Gettysburg. It's got me wanting to discover other things our own country has to offer, instead of looking beyond our borders and into Europe for my next vacation.

And possibly another book is on the horizon :)

Facebook and the Art of Passive Aggression

Everything we do these days revolves around the Internet. We read our newspapers, check the weather, get the latest sport stats, find recipes, shop, even dating has been taken over by the age of computers. Kids these days know more about the Kindle, and less about going to the actual library to check out books--do they even know there's a place you can borrow physical books for free to begin with? It's so engrossed in our culture that I highly doubt any of us could survive a day without it--and I count myself in that group because I've only had my smartphone for a year and I don't know how I survived without it!

It's been a gradual process, but over the last decade the world has taken "being connected" to a whole other level. And a lot of this has to do with Facebook. Everyone and their mother--literally, my mom is now on Facebook but has no clue how to use it--has an account. And it seems like everyday a new little gadget from the mind of Mark Zuckerberg is implemented and we are forced to comply or move on! (Not kidding. Remember when they first introduced the Timeline thing, and everyone hated it and no one wanted to install it and eventually Facebook did it anyway? Yeah...was not happy for about a week!)

I'll admit, I'm pretty much addicted to Facebook. Actually, here's a better term--I am a Facebook Whore. I'm on it like constantly throughout the day. If I don't check it at least 3 times an hour, I'm seriously slacking. If I'm in a work meeting and can't look at my phone, my palms literally itch. It's bad. I'm looking into support groups.

Although I do love me some Facebook, there's one thing with the site that really burns my toast; but also has me fascinated at the same time (don't ask). And that is the whole phenomenon of the "Status Update". No, I'm not referring to the marital status, but the actual status where you can write about what you are currently doing, thinking, feeling, eating, whatever. It's basically a live journal of sorts--you can write about anything without a filter or a cut off/word max (like on Twitter). Usually I do find this entertaining and I live for new updates in my NewsFeed. It's neat to see what people are up to or hear different opinions on things. It's also where I get good reads or restaurants to try.

But I do think people take their updates a bit too far.

I don't find it necessary for people to update their status every 5 minutes. I really don't care that you are hungry for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, that you got up to make one, are spreading the jelly lightly--because everyone knows that shit leaks through the bread-- and are now consuming said sandwich and need a long nap. I DON'T CARE! STOP FILLING UP MY NEWSFEED WITH THIS NONSENSE! Like it's not necessary to tell people every single thing you are doing, or thinking because it makes you look like you have no life.

Perfect example:
My cousin and his wife take my Facebook Whore-ing to a whole new level. They post stuff non-stop (at least 4 different posts a day), and even go so far as to have a photo shoot with their weird kids every night and then post the pictures. Like I'm not kidding you, every morning I wake up to a new batch of baby pictures, in the same arm chair, making the same dumb face, but just in a different onesie. Like why? What is the point? They also like to post similar statuses. Like this: "Wifey is making my favorite for dinner tonight! Spaghetti! Yum! Can't wait to see my wonderful family." Her response: "Making my Hubby's favorite tonight! Can't wait to serve him a big bowl of spaghetti and sit down to dinner with our wonderful boys."

GAG!!!!!!

I have since de-friended both of them because my head was about to explode. It's been a pretty peaceful 2 months........until he found me on Instagram. DAMNIT!

All this aside, there is one other issue I have with Status Updates on Facebook. And this has to do with people who are in relationships--whether it be friendships or romantically incline--and decide to air their dirty laundry. In particular, putting someone on blast because they are pissed at the other person.

Here are examples of a few I found on my own Facebook feed:

This is from a guy I went to college with and happens to be one of his tamer posts. About 4 months ago, he wrote a status that was literally paragraphs long about who I can only assume is the same girl he is writing about here. He literally called her every dirty name in the book, and accused her of being a prostitute and using him for money--apparently he gave her over $1000 (out of the kindness of his heart) so she could move into a nicer apartment and repaid him by "fu***** every guy she met" and lying to him about it. He also posted her name at least 4 times in the blast. It was horrific! Naturally he deleted the post after a few hours, so I wasn't able to find it. DAMN!

This is from a friend of a friend, who was talking about her boyfriend. She does this quite a bit--will go on Facebook when she is piss drunk and verbally assault her boyfriend. And this post went a bit further because the boyfriend and a friend of theirs were commenting back and forth about it. Quite entertaining! And this, again, is one of her tamer, not as direct ones. 2 months ago she accused her boyfriend of choking her out and beating her after an argument; saying that she had pictures of the bruises and would post them. Now whether or not this actually happened, I don't know, but her boyfriend is actually a really nice guy and I had a hard time believing it. Naturally this post, and the one pictured here, were miraculously deleted after a few hours.

This one is intense and a long story. My roommate from college's best friend is a bit crazy. She got married super young, had 2 kids back to back and I guess decided she didn't want to be married anymore. Her husband refused to give her a divorce, so the natural thing for her to do was to start cheating on him with each and every guy who crossed her path. Not kidding, she slept with her other best friend's brother then basically stalked him when he stopped calling her. The funny thing about it is that she was constantly posting cryptic statuses--usually sappy country song lyrics about how miserable she was--or posting things like "Stop talking about me! You are all liars and don't know what I do with my life." When in reality every single thing that was being said about her was the truth. About 2 months ago, her husband finally gave her the divorce. Finally free, she decided it'd be cool to crash and total her car (obviously while intoxicated), break her leg while four-wheeling (intoxicated), and get fired from her job because she was caught sleeping in a hospital room  while on shift(sleeping off the intoxication). So I guess she realized the grass wasn't greener on the other side and tried crawling back to her husband. THEN she met a guy and "fell head over heels in love" and started dating him. Thus the above post from her ex-husband. He even linked her name to the post. Naturally, he took it down after a few hours but the damage was done. Won't lie, was pretty glad he finally found his balls and called her out on the bullshit she had been doing to him for close to 3 years, but it was just tasteless all the same.

Now I understand each and every one of these people's pain. They were wronged and the person responsible should burn in hell for it (well not really). But is it really necessary to post it for the world to see? I'll admit, I love gossip and and live for reading these little life dramas, but it seems wrong on so many levels. Relationships are between two people, who mutually agree to respect each other and do whatever is possible to protect the other. Even when things break down, I think that mutual respect and protection should apply. Putting this out there for the world to read is just immature and truly doesn't solve anything. How can something like this help you move on? It only brings more people into the drama with opinions they have no right to have.

Also, if you have the balls to post something like this, don't take it down after 2 hours. It makes you look even more immature and a complete coward. Stick to your convictions dude! Going into these posts you know you are going to get 1 of 2 reactions:

1. confrontation and angry argument with whoever the post is about--of which you will be called childish (which let's face it you are). If pulling the other person into a fight is what you want, then by all means, spew away.
2. the two of you make up and the fighting is over.

The last of which (also the most common) is the soul reason NOT to blast someone on Facebook. You know whatever petty argument you two are having will be cleared up in a few hours, so what's the point of adding fuel to the fire or risking pissing the other person off. AND everything you post, is permanent. You can delete it but other people will always remember this shit after they read it (look at me!). Being an outsider to many of these posts, I personally find it humiliating when I read post like these and two hours later there's a picture of the two of you making kissy faces at each other. Um....weren't you just fighting? Didn't you hate his guts? MAKE UP YOUR MIND PEOPLE!

Here's a thought: how about you keep your bullshit off social media and actually have a physical conversation with the person you are pissed at. You know, like they did in olden times. I guarantee any issue you have can be solved in 10 minutes with a healthy conversation. And if not, and you end up walking separate ways then by all means--lamb-baste their ass and serve them warm.

I'm not saying I'm completely innocent of this. This blog is partly for me to vent out frustrations, but I also stand by my convictions. I will never and have never removed a post because I'm afraid of pissing someone off. Actually, I know for a fact that the subject of one of my posts has read it and wasn't too happy with me as a result. Will I take it down? Nope! He did it, I wrote, now he has to live with it.

I guess what I'm trying to say (and am extremely long-winded with my approach) is that people need to start living their life in the real world and away from the computer/phone screen. It is way too much and people are out of control (me included). Seriously, what has our world come to if this is how people deal with their aggression?

Multiplying like Rabbits....

Is it just me or are a lot of people getting pets recently?

I swear everyday one of my friends posts a picture on Facebook or Instagram of their new puppy, kitten, iguana, bird, chinchilla, or hedgehog (I actually know someone who has a hedgehog btw. So cute to look at but not too cute to hold or when he's running around his cage at 4am when you just got back from a DMB concert 2 hours before and are slightly intoxicated and all you want to do is sleep.). Maybe it's something about the summer months, or maybe this is typical breeding time? Not sure, but not kidding you, 4 of my friends got puppies this week. Each is incredibly adorable and I desperately want to set up puppy play-dates just to cuddle the cuteness.



This is my friend Meg's new baby Obie. He's a pitbull mix

Being bombarded with all this cuteness, got me thinking about pets in general. And the pets I've had over the course of my 27 years.

My parents are NOT dog people. At all. Neither ever had a dog, had interest in getting a dog or really even like being around them for extended periods of time. In fact, growing up my mom never had a pets--9 kids and 2 live-in grandmothers was enough "animals" to feed and clothe, and there was always a new baby on the way. An animal wasn't brought into her house period until her youngest brother rescued a black kitten from beneath a car and my grandmother let him keep her for a few weeks--he named her Prudence (he really liked the Beatles at the time) and she caught mice in their basement. But at that point, my mom was already living on her own and still had no desire for pets. There was no love lost on either end for her.

My dad is another story.

He loves animals. Always has. He never had a dog or cat when he was young--my grandparents aren't dog people either--but he still had a plethora of "unusual pets". He had frogs and turtles, usually caught from the creek down the road. He kept them in little tubs in the backyard and knew better than to try and bring them inside. The only pet my grandfather actually bought his kids was always around Easter--he liked to put live chicks and ducklings in his kids Easter baskets every year. He liked to see the joy and surprise on his kids face as they saw the real animals crawling around the inside of  the Easter baskets. He even made a little pond in their backyard in New Jersey to house the ducklings. When they got too big--or when it was about to snow and the couldn't live outside anymore--he usually dropped them off at a local farm (with the prerequisite from his children that their "pets" could not be eaten). It was a cute little tradition.

We grew up with a combination of both mentalities.

My mom was never okay with us having pets. She never had a sit down with my dad and said, "Bob, let's get the girls a nice pet. It will teach them responsibility and mold their characters." And when the pets suddenly started to appear, she'd piss and moan for about a week then ignore their presence altogether. As long as the pet didn't live in the house, mess up her furniture, and was pretty self-sufficient she was passive about it. And I guess my Dad knew that because slowly we started getting more and more pets.

First it was just fish. My dad had a massive fish tank filled with goldfish in our basement. They were his pride and joy. He like buying all the little gadgets to decorate the tank and was constantly on the look-out for new supplies. And everything was great until my cousin Brian accidentally knocked the tank light and heater behind the tank, which caused the water to basically boil overnight and kill all the fish. My dad said he came downstairs the next morning and the lone survivor of the "fish boil" was slamming himself into the tank wall--trying to kill itself.

That was the end of fish for a while.

After that we had a mixed bunch of pets. Hermit crabs from the Jersey shore--that usually died before the summer was out or somehow got sucked up into our vacuum cleaner and never seen again (true story). Hamsters--which my dad made the HUGE mistake of buying 4, one for each of us, and not checking to see if they were all the same sex; needless to say we ended up with about 17 of them and almost all the kids on our block took one home that year. Gerbils--I guess my dad was scared straight after the hamster fiasco and decided to go with their long-tailed cousins and only got us 2, both males. Our house always seemed to be filled with a lot of cages and tanks. And if something died or escaped, my dad would simply replace it with something new. The pet store was actually one of my dad's favorite "Sunday Adventure" spots--my mom worked night work at the hospital when we were young, so my dad always took us out all day Sunday so she could sleep. It was mostly window shopping, and once in a while actually holding of a puppy, but it was fun all the same.

The one constant in my house, as far as pets go, were rabbits.

There isn't a time in my childhood that I don't remember us having at least 2 bunnies running around our yard. I'm not sure how it started--probably from another "Sunday Adventure"--but my dad liked to take us to this little farm up the street from us where they sold bunnies. They literally had two rows of at least 30 hutches of bunnies you could pick from. My dad would take the 4 of us there every spring--if we were bunny-less at the time-- and let us pick 2 to bring home. I remember walking up and down the rows for what seemed like hours, looking at and trying to decide which one deserved to come home with me. He had to be a certain color--we stayed away from brown bunnies for some reason-- floppy ears and size. It really became a science for me and my sisters. Finally, we picked our two and we'd whisk them home and to our own Daddy-made bunny hutch in our backyard.

So cute!

We'd play outside with them for hours and hours. Feeding them carrots and celery, chasing them around the yard, stroke their floppy ears and just love on them. Once they were accustomed to us and their new surroundings, they tended to run away and outside of the yard. Which is always when I stepped in. My dad used to call me his "Rabbit Runner" because if they got outside the yard, I was always able to catch and bring them home. I still remember how I did it--I'd sneak up behind the bunny, almost in a lion stance when they are stalking their prey, and pounce when they weren't looking. If I didn't catch them within the first 5 minutes, it simply couldn't be done.

Besides going out to the farm to choose, my dad had another creative way of surprising us with bunnies every year. One that he drew from his own childhood.

Like his father, my dad lived for surprising us on the holidays. He loved to see our faces go from 0 to 60 in seconds. Christmas is usually the big one--there's always something up his sleeve even to this day; last year he surprised us with a remote control car track (don't ask the inspiration behind that one as he has 4 girls and we're all in our 20's now, but he figured we could all play with it the whole day. Which naturally we did!). As Easter is sort of a lack-luster holiday, he always tried to liven it up. My mom usually worked night on Saturdays when we were young, so my dad was usually on his own when it came to pre-Easter festivities. He dyed the eggs with us, set out of baskets, watched endless hours of Peter Cottontail, and made sure our Easter dresses were ironed and ready for church the next morning. But his favorite part of Easter-Eve was setting up our very own "Easter Bunny Trap".

It looked kind of like this

I guess this started because of us setting out milk, cookies and carrots for Santa and his reindeer on Christmas--and we didn't want the Easter Bunny to be left out, as he is on the same magical realm as Santa--but every year we tried to catch the Easter Bunny. He'd set it up right in our living room, do a few practice tries and leave a little sign from us for the Easter Bunny to read. "Alright girls, time for bed. We won't catch him if you're down here watching," he'd tell us. We'd all immediately run upstairs and try to sleep; so excited about what would come the next morning.

Easter morning was always a bit of a rush to get up and to church on time. But we always made sure we were up in time to check our baskets. We'd rush down the stairs--after finally getting permission to do so from my parents--and bee-line it for our baskets. My sisters and I really aren't candy people, so typically we got little toys in our baskets. My dad was always a silent observer in the background with the video camera, just watching as we dug into our baskets. And for some reason he always had to remind us to check the Bunny Trap. We'd remember and rush to the box--that was always conveniently slammed shut and waiting with a surprise. After a few tense moments, we'd lift the box timidly to see what happened. The box would shift a little, showing tiny paws beneath it, and we'd let it drop again with a shriek of "WE GOT HIM!!" Then we'd lift the box completely and a small bunny would be beneath it. We'd clap and scream, passing our new bunny from sister to sister and my dad would just laugh and say, "Told you we'd catch him!"  Every year we caught the Easter Bunny and he lived with us because we were such good girls.

Probably one of the cutest memories I have of childhood.

We had bunnies constantly until I was about 12 and my mom finally relented and let us keep a stray cat from the neighborhood--Tiger. He was an orange, fluff of love and furr. More like a human than an animal. Seriously the best cat in the world and I was devastated when he died 4 years ago. And that was when this little ball of orange furr came into my life.

Charlie

It's always hard getting a new pet after a beloved one has died, and he certainly isn't Tiger but he's cute all the same. He's also kind of a dick and pretty obnoxious--I'm not kidding you, he likes to jumps from behind walls and try and scare you when you are walking into a room, or run through your legs when you are walking down the stairs, and he kind of likes to attack my ankles every time I'm walking around him--but he's cute all the same. My sister and I want to get him a baby brother to play with, but I know my mom would kill me. Maybe one day....

I definitely think a dog is somewhere in my near future. They're just too cute to pass up. I've been very close to buying one in the last few years, but while I'm still living at home I have to abide by my parents rules: NO DOGS ALLOWED!

Until then, I'll just live vicariously through my friends :)

Masochist

*This is a free-write exercise. Some of it may make no sense to you, but it's what is going through my head at the moment*

I'm still trying to digest the events of the last few days.

Trying to keep it down and take it all in--like the food I have been unable to eat or sustain nourishment from. It's been permanetly lodged in my throat, making it hard to breath and even harder to think of anything else. It just remains, ever present in my psyche and physical being, and not willing to budge.

I've been told a lot, by many different people. All wanting to weigh in on the "crisis" and give tid-bits of advice to me in my emotional state. I get why people do that--people inherently want to be helpful to people who are in need and want to make things better and easier for those they love--but it doesn't make it any easier to accept. Telling me to move on, forget you, that I can't save you or make you change. To just quit before I get in any deeper involved--that I should be happy I'm finding out about this now and not 6 months from now. To think about myself and not about you.

"Do you  really want to be worrying about this for the rest of your life?"

"He's a fuck-up loser."

"Tell him to go drink himself into an oblivion."

"You deserve so much more."

"It's a disease."

"He's not it for you."

"Just end it and walk away."

"You will always be his babysitter."

"He obviously cares more about that little brown bottle."

"Leave him!"

"Leave him!"

I hear you

I hear you

But it doesn't make it any easier.

I know what I should do, and if the roles were reversed I'd be telling my friend/daughter/sister the same thing. You're looking at the tear-stained cheeks of my face, the stressed-filled eyes and manic appearance I possess and are trying to hold me together. And every single thing you have said is 100% accurate.

But

The heart wants what the heart wants.

And I can't walk away and leave him to struggle with this alone. What would that acheive? Nothing but guilt in my heart and a quicker grave for him. I can't just throw in the towel when things get rough, because that's what everyone else in his life has done and it's what he expects. I could never live with myself if I didn't at least try and help him. Try and get him to come back to reality; away from the dizzying blur of drunken stupors. I see the good in him. I see the man he is and who he could be. And maybe that's stupid; I should see what is right in front of me 95% of the time and forget the illusion. But I know he's in there beneath it all. Beneath the awful demons and load he carries on his back, day in and day out. People will think I'm crazy after all he's put me through. I can't blame them--from an outsiders perpective I'd think the same thing. But I can't do the easier of two options, which walking away would be.

I know what I'm in for. More tears. More heartbreak. More lonely nights of waiting. More stress and worrying. More brawls and pleads to change. More broken promises. More lies and mistrust. More difficult decisions. More lectures from friends. More inner struggles. More pain.

But I have to believe he can come through this. I have to believe he is stronger than this. That there is nothing he can't do if he puts his mind to it and that change is possible. That our love can conquer anything. That I am worth it to him; that he knows he is the cause of my pain and wants to be better. That he wants this to work as much as I do and knows that this is the only way its possible.

I know he loves me.

I know I love him.

I just hope it's enough.

Reliving the 90's

I have one of those jobs where I'm either slammed with work or bored out of my mind and wanting to claw my eye-balls out. Like so busy that I'll forget to eat lunch or get up from my desk--to the point that my ass literally falls asleep--or that I'm so bored that I stare at my e-mail wishing, praying in fact to get an alert that I'm needed for some sort of project. Both have its perks. Sometimes I like getting pulled in every direction; constantly having something to do or waiting in the pipe line to complete helps the day fly by. But having some down time is also nice; helps me catch up on my celebrity gossip and sometimes even complete my blog entries for the week (SHHHHHHHHH that's our little secret).

The last week has been exactly that.

June has been a pretty hectic month for me, work-wise. Another department was just combind with mine-- because this other department is a group men who really have no sense of organization or keeping up with the basic protocol of the company (basically they didn't have me in their department), but are just into field work/designing aspect of their job--which means double the work for me. I basically had to catch them up with organizing their shit, took over all of their data entry, and cleaned up the basic chaos over there. On top of this, I've still had to deal with my own department's every day needs. AND June seems to be a pretty busy month for the automotive industry--which I guess makes sense because this is when people start to really put some miles on their vehicles--because we just started developing 3 or 4 parts, which I've had to do a lot of research on. I've constantly had 3 or 4 URGENT tasks waiting to be completed every day, and have been pulled off and on projects at a moments notice.

Luckily, everything has seemed to slow down now and I'm getting a bit of a break.

But this break has caused me to become pretty damn bored. And I've been looking for creative ways to keep the days going. Usually I just troll the internet, looking for articles to read or funny Cat videos to watch. At first there was plenty to watch and do, but now on day 10 of my "slow down and breath" pace, I've been kind of stuck. There's only so many articles on the NSA crisis and the KimYe baby.



I have never been so desperate to know the name of a goddamn kid in my entire life!

 I also have a slight form of ADD (self-diagnosed) and really like to have something going on in the background while I'm working. Usually it's music, but I keep forgetting to charge my IPod at night. So I've turned to videos on my IPhone via YouTube. Which you can find just about anything on YouTube. And I mean ANYTHING.

Which led me to finding the 90's Television section of YouTube.

This coming weekend, my friend Matt is throwing a 90's party. Everyone has to come wearing their favorite 90's fashions and we'll indulge in 90's music the entire night. Being a kid of the 90's, I really had a hard time thinking of something to wear, so my boyfriend and I decided we'd go as one of our favorite 90's cartoon couple.

Doug Funny and Patty Mayonaise

Seriously, who didn't love this show!

We knew we'd kill it if we came as them! And in an effort to really get into character--and really nail the costumes--we started watching old episodes on YouTube. I'm not even kidding you, we got the costumes down to the their pink and red shoes!

This little trip down memory lane got me thinking and at work last week--while in the depths of my utter and complete boredom--I decided to start YouTube-ing my favorite 90's shows and really was shocked at all I was able to find. Literally each and every show I loved as a kid was up on YouTube.

Here's a few of the shows I've stumbled across and indulged in this last week:

This foreign import--I'm pretty sure it's from Australia--aired on the Disney Channel and was definitely one of my favs! Basically it was about these 2 boys whose mom is a marine biologist and she moves them to this underwater, futuristic research facility in the middle of the ocean to study the migration patterns of humpback whales. All seems pretty normal until the boys come across a mysterious girl named Neri who lives in the ocean and can talk to Charlie, ones of the whales their mom is studying.

I'm pretty sure I learned how to tell time because of this show. For some reason I think the show got cut short after the 3rd season and I never got to see what happened. And naturally, YouTube only has the first 2 seasons (or I've only been able to find the first 2) so I'm still in the dark!

Which led me to my next show!

All kids of the 90's are sure to remember this show! It aired as part of Nickelodeon's Snick on Saturday nights and thoroughly scared the shit out of it's young veiwers for years to come!

In case you are one of the few who didn't watch, the show is about a group of kids ("The Midnight Society") who gather around a campfire once a week and take turns telling scary stories. The stories are then depicted for us viewers. They were always different, with a new set of characters and freaky themes each week but the point was always the same; to scare the crap out of the viewer.

I remember there was a point that I refused to watch this show, especially at night. And I'm pretty sure it had something to do with a certain character by the name of Zeebo the Clown.

I don't think this needs any further explanation

My cousin still has a very real and paralysing fear of clowns due to this very episode. Thank God I haven't found it on YouTube because I may feel pretty stupid if it isn't as scary as I remember it to be.

Another of Nickelodeon's live-action gems. Animorphs centered around 5 teens who are given the power to morph into any animal by an Andallite alien, who crashed landed onto Earth to warn us of the invasion of Urks--a slug-like alien species that crawls into the ear cavity of a human and takes control of their bodies. The teens are the only ones on earth that know of the invasion and have been given the task of saving the world.

I was pretty obsessed with the show and in fact, remember it aired Sundays at 8:30. But this was another of my shows that fell through the cracks and I never got to see how it was all wrapped up. AND I can also only find up to season 2 Episode 6 on YouTube! DAMN!!!!

It's weird watching these shows and its definitely taken me back to a time when things were a lot simpler. It's also interesting that each of these shows only ran for a half hour, when today these type of shows would have been stretched to an hour and be jammed back with commercials. Definitely a more innocent time, when sex and drugs were never prevalent in children programming. So weird! Really a trip!

These three shows alone and have helped me immensely the last week or so. They've helped the day go by faster and kept my sanity when I'm trudging through endless data sheets and research on mass airflow sensors.

But

Now I'm stuck for another show! I need some suggestions people! I'd like to stay with the whole 90's theme, so anything you can think of please send my way! I feel another week of boredom coming my way and I literally will not survive another week without something to keep me occupied!

PS- The 90's party ended up getting postponed :( No replacement date picked yet, but I'll be sure to upload some pictures of our costumes once it happens! They're awesome, let me tell you!

xoxo

The Story He Never Told

There's nothing quite like summer Saturday mornings. Early Saturday mornings specifically. When the sun is just about to rise and most of the city is still asleep. The humidity is down, wind blowing in through the open windows, a nice hot cup of coffee in my hand and the Saturday edition of the Inquirer are all I need. It's the hour of peace I get, before the patter of 8 sets of feet come rushing down the stairs for breakfast and full of ideas for how we can spend the day. From the moment my kids are up, our house is never still or quiet--laughter, screams, singing and chaos is the norm in my home. So I cherish the time I get to myself; it helps me refocus for the week ahead.

And this was the first Saturday of summer vacation, which was to bring its own batch of chaos and hilarity from my children.

I figured I had a solid 20 minutes left of quiet before the house would explode and I'd get thrown right into summer routines.

The phone rang right as my second cup of coffee hit my lips. I turned and looked to the kitchen clock. It was 7:15. I always had a slight adversion to talking on the telephone--I'd rather speak in person, and look someone in the eye. But my wife insisted on installing the damn thing, "We have 8 children! I'm not going to run down to the market if one of them is bleeding to death and needs an ambulance," she told me. Out of principal, I never answered it. And whoever had the nerve to call at that hour deserved to be ignored. I let it keep ringing and went back to the sports section, enjoying my second cup of coffee.

Two minutes went by and the sound of bells filled my silent house again. Unrelentless.

"This better be good," I said to myself as I stood and reached for the telephone."Hello," I said into the reciever, trying to convery my annoyance with every syllable I uttered.

"Is this Mr. Diehl," the voice on the other end asked.

"Yes it is. Who is calling."

"Is your son Joseph? Joseph Diehl," they asked again.

"Um....yeah. May I ask who's calling?"

"This is nurse Monroe over at Nazareth Hospital. Your son was brought in this morning. He's being examined now."

"No wait. My son is asleep. Up in bed. Are you sure you have the right number," I asked, equally confused and concerned. My heart was starting to flutter uncontrollably.

"I'm pretty sure sir. He was able to give us your phone number. 6 years old. Birthdate June 16th 1962. Blue eyes--"

"Right. Right. Okay. That's my son. What happened! Is he okay?" I was on my feet again, anxiously pacing the kitchen. The phone chord was stretched to the max as I grabbed my car keys and attempted to lace my shoes.

"He was hit by a car crossing over the Oxford to Bridge. He seems to be alright, his bicycle looks to have taken most of the impact. He just has a few bumps and scrapes on his legs from the asphalt. More shook up then anything. The doctor is in with him now. Probably best that you come down, sir."

"I'll be there in 5," I said, dropping the reciever and running from the kitchen. In the 2 seconds it took me to get to the front door, I decided it'd be better to not wake my wife or anyone else in the house. It'd be pointless and just hold me up from getting to the hospital as soon as possible.

I ran from the house to my car, fought with the car door--4 keys on a key ring do not all fit in the same lock, as they should in these situations--then was flying down the Boulevard at a decently unsafe speed. I ignored the other cars around me; the horns and yells of people I was cutting off and I swerved in and out of lanes. I probably ran a few lights but I couldn't tell you. All I was thinking about was my youngest son at the hospital.

We lived within a mile of Nazareth Hospital. My wife works in one of the outpatient doctor's offices' as a receptionist 3 days a week. When the weather is nice, she actually walks to work. She considers it her exercise and enjoys the 15 minute walk  home, especially at night. She said it calms her--almost like my Saturday mornings do for me.  She loved living so close to work and not having to depend on me to drop her  there.

And it that moment, I was thanking God we lived so close.

As I pulled into Nazareth's parking lot, my mind was racing as fast as my car had been going. I was trying to keep calm, but the second you hear your child is hurt--especially when you think he is upstairs in bed--all that goes out the window. I literally couldn't think straight or think of anything else but the worse possible scenario. I attempted to park my car--I was probably taking up 2 spaces and really could care less--and again hustled from the parking lot to the entrance.

Inside, it was pure hosptial-esque chaos.

Doctors and nurses were everywhere, but running around on their agendas. Gurneys were being rolled up and down the hallways and the load-speakers above my head were barking orders and instructions to employees. I was slightly overwhelmed and didn't know where to start. I grabbed the first person who took notice of me and she pointed me in the right direction; her assuming I should start in the ER where most of the off-street patients were taken first.

I ran all the way to the ER and was completely out of breath by the time I got there. I grabbed an orderly by the collar  as I tried to catch my breath.

"I'm looking....for my....son. He was brought....in a few minutes....ago. Joseph Diehl. He's.....6," I managed to say through massive gasps.

"Okay sir," he said, as he  shook my hands from his neck," please take a breath. Calm down a bit. His name is Joseph Diehl?"

I nodded, trying to slow my pounding heart.

"Okay. Why don't you take a seat, while I try and track him down. Would you like some water," he said, motioning to a nearby bench. I sat down as he handed me a paper cup of water and walked away. I took 3 massive gulps down of water and crushed the cup in my hands. I felt better but my heart was still pounding. Probably wouldn't stop until I found him.

After a few minutes the orderly came back and motioned for me to follow him.

"He's right down here Mr. Diehl. I was able to pull his chart. He seems to be alright, just a bit shaken. He sustained a few minor scratches on his arms and legs, but nothing that some bandages can't heal up. There's just one issue," he said, walking steadily down the hallway, with my jogging in toe.

"Which is," I asked.

"Your son won't allow the doctor to finish his exam. Because he was practically under the car when the ambulance got to him, the doctors wish to exam his hips and upper thighs just to make sure there is not internal damage. He won't allow the doctors to remove his blue jeans to take the necessary X-Ray. Hopefully he will calm down a  bit once he sees you and allow us to complete the exam."

I nodded in agreement. He stopped short in front of a small room and motioned for me to go in. I turned the doorknob and walked in.

Inside was my son.

He was sitting on top of an exam table, legs dangling off the side, wearing a hospital gown  but with his blue jeans peaking out from the bottom. He was shivering and crying lightly. Broke my heart to pieces. And the minute he saw me, he jumped from the table and into my waiting arms. I swept him up and carried him back to the table, sitting down with him across my lap. He was clutching my neck for dear life and crying harder than he had before. He was sobbing and completely incoherent.

"Alright Joe," I said, "it's okay. Calm down. I'm here. It's okay. Calm down now Joe. You're fine. Alright?" I sat with him like that for a few minutes and rocked him softly. I held him close until I could feel his heart slow down and his sobs soften.

"You okay now," I asked. He nodded yes and pulled away from me slightly, wiping the last few tears from his eyes. "Now tell me what happened."

"I'm sorry Dad. Really I am. I didn't mean to...not tell anyone...where I was going," he blurted out and started crying all over again.

"It's okay Joe. It's okay. It's done and over with now. There's nothing to be angry about. I'm not mad. Just tell me what happened. Okay? Take a few breaths and tell me."

"I just wanted to put air in my tires, Dad. John said he was gonna go riding today and I could go with him, and he never says I can come Dad so I was just excited and wanted to get over to the Gas station the second they opened. I rode slow Dad, I promise. And on the sidewalk like you always told me to. And I was fine on the way there and I filled my tires really quick. But on the way back I heard these loud tire sounds and then there was a car and then it was on top of me and I don't know what happened. I think my bike got squished Dad. I'm really sorry Dad. I'm really sorry," he finished and started crying all over again.

I pulled him in again and hugged him tight. "It's okay Joe. You're okay and that's all that matters. I'm just glad you're okay. Look at me," I said pulling away from him and holding his head between my hands, "That's all I care about okay. Don't worry about the bike. We'll get you another one."

He nodded and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his gown.

"Now you have to let the doctors finish looking you over. They have to take you down to X-Ray now and you need to let them take off your pants."

He pulled away from me instantly and jumped off the table, shaking his head hysterically.

"I can't Dad. No way. I can't. Don't make me! I'm not hurt I swear!" he said, raising his voice and clinging to his blue jeans.

"Joe they have to do their job. They have to check everything, just in case," I said.

"I can't take them off Dad. They'll laugh at me."

" Why would they laugh, Joe?"

He shock his head and turned away from me; backing himself into the corner, almost in a defensive position.

"You can tell me anything, Joe. I won't laugh I promise."

His tiny body sighed and he turned back around. He pulled up his hospital gown and undid his pants, letting them drop to the floor and revealing tiny, white underwear with big red hearts on them.

Little girls underwear to be exact.

"I couldn't find mine. All I could find were Annie's and I was in a hurry," he said, looking completely defeated and ashamed.

I kept a straight face, as I promised, but inside I was smiling from ear to ear. The predicament he found himself in--that he rationalized wearing his sisters underwear for just a quick ride, and no one would ever know it happened and then this happening. He must've felt pure panic when the nurses tried to remove his clothes knowing his secret would come out. I thought back to myself, growing up in a house with a lot of brothers and sisters and the hell they would've given me. I could see it all in his eyes in that moment.

"Don't tell anyone Dad. Please," he pleaded, with all the dignity he could muster.

I smiled and rustled his hair.

"I promise."

                                                                ********

"So he helped me out of the underwear and threw it in the trash and brought me home after," I concluded.

I was sitting at my parents kitchen table. Surrounded by my brothers and sisters, after our father's funeral. It was a long and tiring day but we had gotten through it as a family. Dad was always our rock and he would've wanted us all to stick together in this hard time. We did all we could to keep it together. But now everyone was gone and it was just us and our memories. We had been sitting around the table for hours reliving our childhoods and happy memories with Dad.

I finished my story and was expecting a huge barrage of laughter and jeers from my siblings. This was my most notorious childhood memory and one I never lived down in my mind. I was expecting to get reamed, especially by my brothers.

But I got nothing.

Dead stares from 7 sets of eyes.

"What," I asked, extremely confused.

They all looked at each other and then back to me.

"Joe, he never told us about that. This is the first we're hearing about it," my sister Ann--the same sister whose underwear I ran out of the house in that morning--said.

I was shocked. Most of my siblings were now silently crying or shaking their heads with a slight smile on their faces. But none of us said a thing. We were all thinking the same thing:

He kept his promise.

He never ratted me out or told anyone about that faithful summer morning. He took the promise he made to his youngest son so seriously that he never spoke of it again.

I didn't think it'd be possible for me to miss my father more then I already did. But in that moment the pain and longing to hug my father was almost unbearable.

I joined my siblings and let myself cry.

*Based on a true story about my Uncle Joe and my maternal grandfather*
:) Happy Father's Day all

xoxo

Memorial Day

Hoping you all had a restful, eventful, and invigorating Holiday Weekend! With lots of hotdogs, hamburgers, beer, and potato salad to honor our Veterans--no hotdogs for me, heard on the radio exactly what's in hotdogs on Friday and nearly threw up. Seriously gross and I don't think I will ever look at a hotdog again.

All that aside I had a very enjoyable weekend.

My best friend and her husband went to Boston over the weekend to see the Phillies play the Red Sox--which going to a Red Sox game in full Phillies gear and hassling Sox fans is definitely on my bucket list--so they asked me and my boyfriend to stay at their house and take care of their dog, Finnegan. Was happy to oblige, as I really didn't have anything planned. And he really is the cutest pup in the world.



Isn't he?

So we basically played house for the weekend with our surrogate "child" Finnegan. It was pretty great.

Monday we participated in a bunch of Memorial Day festivities. My boyfriend is part of an American Legion Post so he was involved in a few ceremonies throughout the Philly area. He had to get all dressed up--we actually lost track of time on Sunday and had to run to Macy's (we were yelled at when we walked in because apparently the mall closes at 7 and it was 6:55. They were not happy with us) to get a new pair of black shoes (he lost one) and a new belt just for the ceremony--and hold a POW MIA flag at two wreath layings, a park re-dedication, and two flag raising ceremonies.

I've never been to anything like it on Memorial Day--as I'm usually down the shore, hung-over, or asleep at that early hour--and it really hit me deep. I got pretty emotional at very weird moments--like during the Pledge of Allegiance, which I don't think I've said since middle school, but I was standing there blubbering like a baby by the second phrase--and I got really caught up in the significance of the day. Maybe it's because of my book and the fact that my Pop is getting older and may not be around for too much longer. But it was pretty inspiring. And goosebump worthy.

Especially this.

I took this in front of one of the VFWs we went to. The entire front lawn was filled with crosses, emblazoned with the name of a fallen veteran from the area. Row upon row, flag after flag, each represented a man or woman who gave their life (or part of it) to this country. Honors, ranks or time served aside, each man/woman was equal in this honor. I know this is done quite a bit, but I've never seen it in person or been present for the ceremony that accompanied it. I've never heard the names read one by one, with a bell chimed after each and the dead silence from the crowd listening. Just hearing Taps from a bugle is enough to make anyone misty eyed.

I'm glad my boyfriend invited me.

When we got home that night, and laid down to sleep, my boyfriend turned to me and said, "After a day like today, I wish I had enlisted. Done something for this country the way all those guys did."

I didn't know how to respond. The day was incredibly moving and I didn't blame him for being inspired to fight and serve. But....is it selfish of me to be glad he didn't? I've heard my grandfather's stories, I've seen the aftermath and what war can do to a man--which I know he isn't dumb to--and I'd never want that for him. To see that light go from his eyes and anger fill it. I know it's every man's duty to fight for his country and it's a huge honor, but....I guess I'm just selfish.

As if on cue, Finnegan jumped up onto the bed and snuggled in between us. And the moment was gone--doubt and selfishness replaced by doggy kisses and belly rubs.