teague

1) When was it that you first discovered your passion for photography?
To some degree I have always liked photography. My Mom also took photos, and was interested in art. It's only been in the past few years that I've decided not to listen to the voice telling me it's stupid.

2) Your current favourite band is HIM; what would you say your favourite HIM song is at the moment?
I don't have a favorate yet. I like them all.

3) How many DVDs would you guess you own?
About 50?

4) What is your favourite type of character to role-play?
Tormented priest, hehe

5) I know you like a lot of movies; which would you say is your all-time favourite?
That's a really hard question. I had to go look at my movies and try to think. I bet money that you couldn't have guessed


It's Alien. hehe

This is Re: http://www.livejournal.com/users/theferrett/466248.html which most of my friends have seen, but some may not have. So here goes. My big post about how my life was affected by my peers.Behind the cut because it's long.
( Read my Pain! )

In honor of Vet's day, I am going to tell the funniest story I have heard about my Grandaddy Hardy, Marine. Grandad was in the Korean war, and was stationed at one point in Japan. He was a young man, and considering how he was when I knew him, it's hard to imagine him being a cursing, drinking, fighting man. According to my grandmother, he wasn't, but...he was a Marine. Anyway, he was invited into a home, and they offered him Sake. My grandfather did have manners, but he didn't know about Japanese manners. He didn't know he was supposed to turn the cup upside down to refuse refils. He did know it was rude to refuse. My poor, country grandfather got completely faced on Sake. If he did anything embarrassing, I never heard. This story was funny enough.

I just wanted to share this with Pete, and other Star Wars folks who have been bitching lately, and need a laugh.

http://www.geocities.com/sightless2/vader/vader.html

On another note, I went with my Mom and Auntie today to see The Color Purple, the musical. It's a made for Broadway production, though not yet on Broadway. It's a contender. The music was very good. I'll have to find it, and get it for Rachelle. And it was the perfect time to see it. PMS can make dramatic musicals just MINDBLOWING.

I enjoyed hanging out with my Mom, and my Auntie. Her health isn't so good. She has debilitating arthritis. I worry about this. Mom has had it once. My Nona has it, but not debilitating. Sometimes I get pretty stiff...erg.

You know, sometimes I lament that I don't have the same sorts of deep thoughts as others do on this forum. Some of the most interesting things in my life are my husband, my cats, and my hermit crabs. And right now the crabs are the most novel.

I did remember something that happened to me earlier today that was, well, creepy. Or would have been if I were more easily scared. I was reading my book at the mall today, waiting for my interveiw with the Photo Studio, and I notice this shadow passing into my vision. I almost *don't* notice it. It's tiny...almost imperceptible. And being a redhead, I am sometimes *overly* sensitive..the skin around my eyes is easily irritated, Sometimes I fear I'll go crazy due to some tiny, nearly minute hair stuck in the corner of my eye. I can feel the slightest itch from an eyelash, like it's being tangled by another lash, or by a strand of my headhair hanging down. I am distracted, and I focus. This speck is moving vertically in my vision. I still can't focus on it. It's too close to my eyeball. There is something familiar in the movement. I keep watching. Finally a tiny spider, about the size of the periods used in this post, crawls onto the book seven inches below my eyes. It was on my face...on my *eye*. It's tiny brown body made it's way down my lashes. I found it shivery, and oddly delicious. I made sure the little creature meandered without molestation across the table. The little thing was probably hardly aware of the great behemoth that it had been crawling on.

Well, gentle readers, remember how I lost a large quantity of comic books earlier in the year? Fuck if something didn't happen to something else. I have not completely unpacked from the move. I still have delicate, collectable things in boxes. Things that used to reside on some shelves that were in the house we lived in already. We don't have such shelves built in here. It was my mistake to leave one of the boxes on a table near the window. It had simply been safe up until it got knocked over. It *had* been a kitty perch for pretty much months. But today I wake to the sound of breakable things hitting a floor. The box had been full of packing peanuts, and the things were wrapped, but still...Shit happens. Tonight I clean the mess, and I discover two of my great grandmother's elephants, and two dragons are shattered.

I might be able to salvage alittle. Pieces are there, and it's not their beauty that I loved them for. There are just alot of memories there. My great grandmother, my Grammy, is gone now. Somewhere in my Mom's scrapbook is this amazing picture attached to a newspaper story. I am in my Great*great* grandmother's arms. Grammy's mother. Five generations of women. My mother, Nana, and Grammy were all there, smiling. If I had gotten started in my early 20's, I could have had a sequel to that pic. Grammy was still alive. I swear she was healthy right up until she wasn't. And when she wasn't, she went quickly. Diagnosed with cancer, and within a week, she was gone.

She had loved all her grandchildren, and great grandchildren. We would go to visit her and spend the night. I would read Archie comics laying prone on her front porch on an "indian" blanket. It was this tye dyed thing made of the same fabric as t-shirt material. It was Georgia. Rural Georgia, and hotter than hell. Grammy's only way of temp control was all these fans. Hand fans, box fans, and those ocelating things. In the winter it was a wood stove, and alot of blankets. Sometimes I am amazed that she had indoor plumbing, and any electricity. I'm sure she remembered a time when she didn't. Grammy made the best iced tea in the whole world, and she made *real* fried apple pies, from scratch. And I mean she picked apples, sliced, and canned them, then used them as filling for crusts she made, and rolled herself. We would gather at her house every Christmas Day, and every Easter. There was always a spread, and always those special pies. And somehow she always knew to make way too many, so we could run off with them when we were too full to eat any more there. Oh god...real country food..Greenbeans, ham, creamed corn, that fluffy pink cloud desert made with jello, coolwhip, pecans, and fruitcup. Deviled eggs...*stomach growls*

Grammy had this *special* room in her house. Her living room. It was that most wonderful secret garden of a room to be in. You felt so mature when she allowed you to enter. It had the fancy old furnature, and her collections. He had dolls still in boxes, unusual bottles, and elephants. Her elephants spilled all over the house. Most of them were china, though she had plastic, and glass, and various other things. When she passed on the collection was divided up. Children, grandchildren, and us greats all got at least afew pieces. I was glad for the little momentos. It's things like this that *begin* collections. Now I have added elephants. A soapstone from Kenya, and an elephant made of Deft Blue china from Holland. The guys I got were varied in value. I have a piece or two I would take to Antique's Road Show, for curiosity. Grammy had some japanese pieces that I suspect came from befor WW2. That is pretty much why I feel this sad little ache at losing a couple of pieces. If I hadn't already learned not to hold tightly to material things, I'm sure I would be crushed and shattered like they were. I'm not wound up, like these things *are* my Grammy. They are not. I can have my memories of her without them. They are just momentos. They are special, sweet, graceful, and wise seeming..Like elephants, and like my Grammy. Elephants suited her.

Anyway, I'll work on storing the delicate things better, either in a storage building or the cupboards. Hopefully I won't lose any more.

I posted this as a reply on someone else's LJ, but I liked it so much, I decided to keep it.

Hmm...My father figure. That is a very interesting question. My own father was pretty much the archetype of the Deadbeat Dad. I was lucky in that what ever else he had been in the first 7 or so years he'd been in my life, he hadn't been an abusive jackass. I think he cheated on my Mom is why they broke up. I know he moved right in with the woman who is now my stepmother. After they split, I have only seen him once in about 24 years, and have called and written sporadicly. In other words, he was a nice man, but not much of a father. Other than him, I had two grandfathers, and a couple of "steps" (Mom never remarried) These were some good, and bad influences. Both grandfathers were WW2 vets. I remember my Grandaddy Hardy took me on his work route back in the 70s, befor "Take your daughter to work day" was conceived. He was a quiet man. Very stoic. He was very active in his church. A deacon. He didn't drink, smoke, or cuss. He could be stern, but he worked hard to provide for his family. He was a good man. My other grandfather, Grandaddy Kight, was cut from the same cloth, just a different hue. He was big, and barrel chested. He was Army Corp of Engineers, and he never stopped wearing his hair high and tight. He was more relaxed though. He worked on a dam. He smoked cigars. Even now the smell of a cigar reminds me of him. He and my grandmother took me on my first road trip where we went from Georgia to Lousiana. We visted Graceland. They let me pick the stops after telling me what was along the way. Also went to Ruby Caverns, which was very special. Both of these men treated both grandmothers with affection, reverance, and love. I'm really glad I had them, because the subsequent men that Mom picked were not winners. There was Mark. I actually remember him as basicly loving. But he had substance abuse problems. He was younger than my Mom, and not uptight about talking about alot of stuff. I'd have to say he taught me about sex, BUT!!! Not firsthand. He was just candid. He was a happy drunk, but he went too far with drugs apperently, and Mom broke up with him when he got caught stealing from his job. The next guy I barely even want to talk about. Just about the only thing he didn't do was hit my Mom, and I think she just never got around him when he was predisposed. He hit me once. She broke up with him after his 3rd DUI sent him to jail. Basicly called his brother to come get his shit, and told him to *never* come back. *sigh*

Anyway, I believe, because of the men I dated, and the one I eventually married, that I had to have learned much more from my grandfathers. So it should be noted that children do not *need* their direct fathers to develope good relationships later on. They just need *some* good man to be a consistant influance. Brian is a good mate. As good to me as my grandfathers were to their wives, my grandmothers.