How my life is, now.

A few months ago, I posted a message on my Facebook page about what I needed to fix my problems

 

Many of this stuff has changed, so I’m going to rewrite that whole post to be more up to date.

1. My husband has a job now, but it doesn’t make a lot. He needs to keep it for at least six months and needs to have about twice as many hours each week.

Every dollar we make goes to rent. Every. Single. Dollar.

2. I seriously need a mani/pedi. For my self esteem if nothing else.

3. We need a car, and preferably one that is paid in full. I need it to Run, I need it to Pass Inspection, and I need it to have A/C. I’d also prefer it have decent fuel economy. I have no income, as of now, and our savings for a down payment has been depleted through the last few months with my previous crap-paying job.

4. I want to take a trip home to see my family, for at least a week. I haven’t seen any of them for many years. I missed two weddings and a graduation.

  5. I need a social security lawyer.

6. I need a second computer so my husband has a computer as well. It would also be good to have a back-up for this one.

. I need at least a year, possibly two off work. I need to spend time healing my mind and body

8. I need new glasses. Mine are held together with Gorilla tape and hope. They pinch my face and I have to squint behind them to see.

Merry Christmas: Remembering my grandfather

I will always believe in Santa Claus, and with good reason.

My grandfather, Robert Gerald Brown, Sr. was Santa:

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This picture is of him, from his days as Santa Claus. Real Beard, Real belly, even the real rosy cheeks.
One year, he even went away during the Holiday season because he was  the Santa Claus at a big mall in the North East.
He was an amazing and a wonderful man.

Grandpa died of Cancer in 2002, just a few months after I got out of the military.
This week, he would have been 81 years old.

In my childhood, I thought he was a Vampire hunter: he owned a shop that made wooden stakes.

He was a Mason, a Shriner. And, from what I remember my mom telling me, a Boy Scout Master when my uncles were younger.
Perhaps the coolest thing about my Grandpa was that in his later years, he ran a business selling foods at carnivals.
It started out as a fundraiser for the Shriner’s hospital, selling ice cream at carnivals and fairs. But, it expanded.
Grandpa Claus sold ice cream, funnel cakes, bloomin’ onions, lemonade, an entire cavalcade of snacks and sweet foods at festivals. And he made sure that he included the entire Brown family in on the business.
Anyone who wanted to, he’d let work with him for a day, or for a week, or for a festival.
I say “wanted to” because working with Grandpa was fun family time for most of us. He enjoyed his work at the fairs, the looks people gave him when they saw Santa scooping Ice Cream or making a funnel cake. He was a reminder to kids at the County Fair to behave because Santa Claus was watching, even in the spring time.

I worked with him only one time, when I was 13,  I think. We drove two hours to Central Georgia for a craft fair. And that day he taught me two important lesson about  sales.
The first was to give things away. He gave away ice cream. He found a local police officer, the boy scout master, and a pair of teenage girls and gave them all a free cone, telling them all “The Shriners tell me I have to give away Ice Cream to on-duty cops/Boy Scout Masters/Girls who are wearing green”  (or some unique identifier about the person). It was his way of showing people, “Hey! Ice Cream! Come Buy some!”

The second was, whenever possible, be the only person selling your goods in a given place. He would only sell ice cream at a fair if there were no other ice cream vendors. The same went with other foods he sold.
And it worked.
Because no one wants ice cream until they see someone else eating a cone.

Grandpa was one of the most extroverted people I know. He could walk up to a complete stranger, and within minutes, strike up a conversation and talk like he’d known the person his whole life. He made friends with ease.

He also served in the military, and when I joined the service, he was very proud of me. To this day, I’m the only of his grand kids to do so (Unless one of my cousins has joined and I’m not aware of it).Christmas of 1984, I was 6 years old and in Kindergarten. That year, I had a doll, Kimberly, who was my child.  Kimberly went with me everywhere until she had an unfortunate incident where my baby sister ripped her head off and was sent to a dolly hospital to be repaired. In the meantime, I was scared, alone, and doll-less in my room.
So that Christmas, Grandpa gave me the one present I think I loved more than almost any other present I’ve ever received.

He bought me April Natasha Brooks: (She was born Cornelia Natasha, but that had to change. Yuck.)

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Taken Dec 23, 2013. I’ve had her 29 years.

That was the year that the Cabbage Patch dolls were the gift. the Hard gift to find, and all that. Grandpa told me he saw her at the store, and she begged to come home with him, so she could live with me. I fell in love with her at once.

April was not a replacement for Kimberly, she was a supplement, a friend for Kimberly when she came back from being repaired. And someone for Kimberly to play with.  I’ve long-lost Kimberly, but April I still cherish.

I don’t remember wanting one, or asking for one, but April was the present I needed, the toy I love and cherish even now into my *cough* repetitive late twenties.

And it happens every year. At some point in the holiday season– either his birthday (December 21), on Thanksgiving, the first Santa I see, or even when I watch a film, I’ll start to tear up and miss him a little bit. Just a bit.
This year, that was yesterday, when I watched Miracle on 34th street.

Why do I believe in Santa Claus? Why will I always Believe?
Because my Grandpa is  Santa.

And…. the Prologue (or part of it) from my story.

I’m still tentative on the title of my work, but I thought I’d at least take a moment to present my prologue.

migraine

Note: Not my picture, just used for purpose of this post.

As I look back on my life and the decisions I’ve made, I think it all goes back to those blasted headaches. Why couldn’t I be cursed with a less obtrusive backlash, like sunburns, or depression, rage issues, kleptomania, or even a limp? I think I would have even been okay if the backlash the Fates gave me was a drinking problem or gluten intolerance. But no! I get headaches: Soul-crushing, brain-melting, life-ruining headaches. These headaches stopped me doing so much when I was little, and nearly killed me in my youth. 

            People who don’t have brain-pain like mine don’t understand it. I couldn’t make plans, because every time I did, I would have to cancel because at the last-minute, the headaches would dance a tango behind my eyeballs. When I tried working, I would get to work only to find that my brain decided that it would rather throb and ache instead of letting me handle people’s money. I learned quickly that bosses and customers don’t understand headaches as the reason behind not being able to work. Dating was next-to-impossible: no man wants a girlfriend who has to leave halfway through dinner because her head is about to explode.

     But, I should not remain angry with the Fates for the headaches.   Because had it not been for the headaches, and had it not been for Him, I would not be standing here today.

And you? You definitely would not be here, either, on the wrong side of my Divine wisdom and just anger.

 

 

Happy Holidays!

I know I haven’t posted much on this page in the past month, but I wanted to take a moment to wish all my readers a merry Christmas, happy new year, and a joyful solstice.

 

I’ve been hard at work on my first book, a story about a girl who discovers she is the Goddess Athena.

Currently, primary writing is finished and i’m in the editing phases.
I plan on self-publishing in ebook format. It will be available perhaps in February or so.

 

In the meantime, I’m looking for a cover artist.

 

Any takers?