Musings . . .

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

I wish I . . .

didn’t almost always take the path of least resistance.

had climbed into the bed and held my mother as she died, instead of sitting there just holding her hand.

had gone to New York when my cousin invited me years ago – limo and all.

could do like my Dad said and save my money.

cared less than I do about what others (those who really really really don’t matter) think of me.

was braver about some things.

hadn’t left Bubby (my cat) with my ex.

had seen the Beatles when they were young . . . although I was a little young for that.

had told my Dad I loved him before he died.  I know he knew, but I will always regret never having said the words.

had paid more attention in high school and college – for myself, not for anyone or anything else.

could paint and/or draw.

hadn’t done what I *did* do instead of studying in high school and college.

liked more veggies and less steak.

could put out my arms and fly like I do in my dreams some times.

knew a foreign language.

had met Daddy when I was younger.

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[hana]

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[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

That's beautiful, Hana!

Thank you!

<huggin' you tight>

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[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

sometimes i have a hard time not feeling very alone then i feel guilty because im really not

i mean i work at home and so does daddy so im never really alone even if he's not here he's just a phone call away always sos my sister an most of my friends are online alot . . .

so I really dont have any cause to complain

But . . . sometimez its very overhwhelming

imiss the social aspects of being at work but denifitelynot the work itself

i guess im just outtasorts this mornin

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

What do you do when you really really really don't want to be punished, or tendered to . . . but it's not really even something you can put into words.

I get that feeling occasionally.  Less often than I would have thought, actually, considering how often Daddy does something to me down there.

But you know that you're gonna get it anyway, and there's nothing you can do about it, short of getting up and running away.  And you know that's no solution, because you'll just get it a thousand times worse once he catches you and the tantrum's over. 

Sometimes, when I'm lying over Daddy's lap, and I can see my bottom pacifier (plug) lying to my left, in that area between me and Daddy where he always puts the stuff he's gonna use on me - and in me - or a bottle of glycerine suppositories or the strap or any one of a hundred other things . . . sometimes, even though I crave this, I don't want it.

But even before I end up in that position, when I know I have a spanking or an in-depth exam coming, and Daddy has me take off my jammies, or roll onto my tummy so that he can pull just my jammie bottoms and panties down, I soooooo don't want it, but I know I can't get out of it, so I do it anyway.

Sometimes I wanna challenge him.  Make him make me, I guess.  I don't know if that would help those feelings.

Probably not.

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[daddiesgirl]

you are a lot braver than me

i dont think i could do it.....so i guess my ass would be perminately red

{hugs}

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

LOL - I don't know about brave . . . 

Daddy's pretty understanding, usually.  But I've never really defied him at all.

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[daddiesgirl]

{smiling}

thats why you are braver than me

i think i'd be defiant......dont think i could do what you do

hope that didnt sound offensive.....not meant to be

[The hiding of an inner,No Siamese's here.]

I don't have any one to tend my lil, but I can see what you mean about needing something but at same moment you don't want it.

[Miss Heather]

sometimes i have a hard time not feeling very alone then i feel guilty because im really not

i mean i work at home and so does daddy so im never really alone even if he's not here he's just a phone call away always sos my sister an most of my friends are online alot . . .

so I really dont have any cause to complain

But . . . sometimez its very overhwhelming

imiss the social aspects of being at work but denifitelynot the work itself

i guess im just outtasorts this mornin

<hugging carylon very very very very tight>
I know what you mean kiddo!  I get that feeling too... working at home <going a little stir crazy...>and being right there next to bethany, bu feeling almost *alone*

Crazy isn't it?  I've got what I want, but sometimes it's overwhelming what we *can't* do ... Sometimes I want to go out and spend *ALL* of 3 or 4 hous out and shop and take my time.... but then, I don't want to you know?  I mean when Bethany and I go... well, we can't take that much time, it's too taxing on her body, and when I'm alone I'm busting butt to get home to her.  *sigh* you're not "outta sorts" you're HUMAN!!! 

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

Thank you, Auntie Heather!

<knowing you understand lots about this and hugging you soooooo tight!>

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[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

. . . I love the way a fresh strawberry explodes against the roof of my mouth . . .

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[TwinklesDG]

oh Miss Carolyn ... that sounds deliciously sexy  ....I would add only one thing b-4 it explodes it would be a Fresh Strawberry dippped in the finiest chocolate an then placing it in my mouth to explode with the chocolate ...




Now i can't get that out of my mind chocolate an strwaberries ...... an I am trying to behave with the sweets ....

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

I want to thank all the irresponsible idiots who gave away, abandoned, or otherwise neglected my animals, so that I could later adopt them and spoil them silly, and they could, in turn, drive me crazy.

I adopted Kira from the pound eight years ago when I was living in West Va.  She had been set loose on a backroad and brought into the humane society starving.  Part of the reason she attracted me was that, while everyone else was barking and whining up a storm to get my attention, she just sat there dejectedly against the wire door of the cage and whimpered every once and a while, louder when I walked away.

She's a German Shepherd/Rottie mix, with enough Australian Shepherd in her to give her a brown eye and a blue eye, and a naturally docked little stubby tail.  She's not the brightest bulb in the pack, but she's very loving and attentive and she's the first dog I've had who's attached to ME.  She tolerates Daddy, but every time we snuggle she gets off the bed in a jealous huff.  She likes to see how many toys she can cram into her mouth to entice me into playing with her.

I know whoever had her before me abused her, because you can't raise a broom or a mop around her - she'll cringe.  She used to cringe when I leaned down to pat her, too, as if I was going to hit her, and it broke my heart.  She still does it sometimes, and I just melt into a puddle at her feet.



Daddy and I adopted Smeagol not long after we got here and moved in here together.  I went up to the Humane Society near us and sat in their "Cat Rooms", just to see who would come to me and who wouldn't.  Smeagie was the most mellow cat there.  He came over and got pats, then lay on his back, all four feet in the air - in the middle of the Human Society!  And he's still a very mellow cat, who unfortunately at the age of 2 and a half has been diagnosed with a degenerative joint disease in essentially all his joints.  So he's painful alot like Daddy, but it doesn't seem to faze him much - he loves to jump up on us and butt his head against a hand for attention, and if you don't give it to him, he'll paw at you delicately, as a hint.

He's the most beautiful animal I've ever had.  He's pure white - not a spec of anything else on him, with pink pads, pink nose, pink ears . . . And his purr has a wonderful trill.  He's very affectionate and likes to climb up and sit with me, but I know he just wants the heat from the laptop fan.  But his favorite person is Daddy, not me, because Daddy scratches his nose - hard! - and he just comes back for more - the masochist!





I named him Smeagol because he's two-faced.  He's generally very affectionate, but if you pat him longer than he wants to be patted, he'll turn on you and scratch and bite (not viciously, just enough to be painful).

He's a very smart kitty!  He knows that the dryer is marvelously warm for a kitty with aches and pains, and he occupies the top of it every time I turn it on. 

Daddy decided correctly that he needed someone to play with - that's when the Baby came into our lives.  She was a rescue from a mentally-challenged person who lived in a 2 room house with eighteen cats.  She was quite severely undernourished when we got her, and socially stunted - she'd never had toys, or had much of a normal cat life.  She spent the first three or four days just hiding under our bed, yeowling plaintively, and didn't want to be picked up at all.

Well, the undernourished part ain't true no more, I can tell ya'.  With a steady diet of good quality cat food, and the occcasional treat, she's managed to pork out so much that we've had to convert to Science Diet for Pudgy Kitties.  She's a mackerel tabby - black stripes like bones going down her now rounded sides, with a smallish head and very tiny, stiletto feets that dig into me when she's standing on my head, trying to get me to get up and feed her in the morning.

Because she never had real toys, like the tons she has now and largely ignores, she likes to stalk and hunt and carry around crumpled paper in her mouth as if it was a kill, yeowling proudly all the while.  Kleenexes and paper towels are her favorites.  Oh, and dryer sheets.

She's more mine than Daddy's, probably because we named her Princess Peewee (technically) and we Princesses need to stick together.  She'll let me hold her now, but only in one particularly position, and I can pick her up and tuck her under my elbow, football style, and she seems content enough, especially if I'm holding her in front of a window she can look out.





Our bed sure is crowded, especially on those long winter nights with Kira at the end of the bed,and the two cats totem-poled between us, but it sure is full of love, too.

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[daddiesgirl]

you are lucky to have such beautiful pets carolyn
if i do decide to get another dog{i will eventually}...i think i will get a rescue dog
its very sad to see how members of the human race can treat an animal in such a bad way
but right now....i still miss tyson {cross pitbull} too much and feel as if im betraying him if i get another dog just now
plus i work long hours so it wouldnt be fair
kira is a beautiful dog and your cats are too

[hana]

Eee! Smeagol looks exactly like a cat i used ta' have called Clyde (you figure out better names than me! hehe)....
i'm glad your pets got you ta' take care of'em and spoil'em......... and i'm glad you got them too!!

^_^ thank you for sharin' their pictures..

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

Not Your Momma's Dinner Table Conversation . . .



When I take the time to think about it, especially looking at it from someone else's eyes, I have such a strange life . . .

Last week, I went out to Margarita's with some girlfriends of mine, T. and M. and H.  All of us are in committed relationships, and everyone but H. is married.  T is currently pregnant, and M. has a school-aged child.

As always, the topic circulated to sex.  This is some of the same group of girls I had my bachelorette party with at Foxwoods last year, but this time I was grilled about my intimate relationship with my husband in a public restaurant, instead of a private van . . . not that I mind in either case, really, though.  I'm a pretty much unoffendable person.

M. is the insatiable one - she has more questions than any ten people, I swear, and all of them embarrassing!  I think it's a reflection of the relatively sheltered life she's lead.  T. is the one who's going to get me into trouble - she's always asking me if I have permission for this or that, or if I'm going to be in trouble for staying late, and I know it's not because she really cares about that - she'd just love to instigate or somehow or other be the origin of a punishment for me.  I know it.  I know her.

I don't think the situation is helped by the fact that neither T. nor M. has any sexual interest in their mates.  And I mean pretty much nil.  I was the eldest married person at the table (I was the eldest at the table, period!), and the only one who was still actually having sex with her husband.  When I told  them how much time Daddy and I spend in bed, being intimate in one way or the other, whether sexual or just cuddling, they were amazed and . . . sadly for them, I think, almost grossed out.

Over heaping platters of nachos and zarapes and quesadillas (and no alcohol to blame our loose tongues on), we discussed and compared what we would or wouldn't do.  It surprised me to realize that everyone agreed that feet were a huge turn off.  Not a foot-worshipper in the bunch . . . or is that usually a male dominated fetish?  Personally, I can't stand my own feet, much less anyone else's (especially Beffie's), although I will occasionally give Daddy a foot rub in the course of a massage, but it's a very rare occurrence.

Rim jobs were explored - with almost all of us having given at least one, except the most finicky of the bunch.  M. mentioned that she'd slipped her finger inside her husband once, but that she'd been grossed out when it came back to her a little dirtier than she'd expected.

I suggested - partly for the shock value (I love the way their eyes pop out of their heads when I say things like this) - that that was what enemas were for, and the "Oh, my Gawd, you're kidding, aren't you?" and the "Ewwwwww!s" were more than worth any fleeting embarrassment I might have felt. 

It got even better when I said I wasn't kidding in the least.

Eventually, the talk turned to vibrators, which honestly don't do a lot for me.  I don't know why, they just don't.  Never have.  But you should have seen the eyebrows hit the roof when I said that Daddy had made me wear double bullets out to dinner once.  M.'s jaw was on the floor.  "You mean out to a restaurant?  With those things inside you?"

"Yep.  That's exactly what I mean."

More astonished groans and apoplectic looks.

T. was asking me if her extended stays - she sometimes comes down at ten or so and stays until eight - ever got me in trouble, which of course they didn't.  I did confess, however, that I had a strapping coming that night because of something else I'd done.

Outraged - yet intensely curious - expressions and questions.  "A strapping?!"

"With a belt?"

"Yes."

"One that he's wearing at the time - I mean, does he pull it out of the loops in front of you and everything?"  This was eerily close to a lot of passages in a lot of spanking stories (my own included), but I knew that plain ole' vanilla M. wasn't repeating anything she'd heard or read.

"Do you have to get up and get it for him?"  H., who is generally more sexually interested and therefore educated about such matters, asked.

I nodded.  "Exactly."

"Where do you keep it?"

"It's in my underwear drawer, along with the paddle, and the wooden spoon and the rubber strap . . . "

More embarrassed, amazed tittering. 

I'm quite sure the other tables were getting an earful, as well as the poor innocent waitress, who happened to appear when we were discussing bestiality (which none of us have any interest in), and I was trying to describe the knot at the base of a dog's penis that, when swollen, prevents him from disengaging from the female he's mounted . . . or was I talking about how a male cat's penis is spiked, and scientists don't know if the scream a female gives when he dismounts is one of pain or pleasure?  Anyway, I know that as she stepped up next to me, I was saying the word "penis" in conjunction with someone's genitalia.

We were distinctly divided in other ways, too.  One side of the table gives blow jobs - even thoroughly enjoys giving them - whereas the other side most emphatically does not.  Not even on special occasions - not birthdays, not anniversaries.  Not at all.  Ever.  For any reason. Both of them seemed to prefer "man on top, get it over with quick", and frankly confessed to writing grocery lists and remodeling the bedroom in their heads while their husbands were, in essence, using their bodies.

I try not to judge, I really do, but I have to confess that I'm only partly successful. These are two women in their early thirties.  T. is pregnant, and I might be willing to blame her lack of libido on that condition, if she hadn't been completely disinterested long before that - before she even got married!  It just amazes me how little sex drive they have, to say nothing of the fact that neither one of them is in the least interested in what their partner wants, or what might turn their partner on . . . whereas my (and my husband's) entire existence is predicated on a constant low level of sexual arousal.  Everything about how we live is underscored by the fact that he is my Dom and my Daddy, and that I submit to him.  Everything.  Even something as basic as my going to the bathroom.  Daddy requires that the bathroom door be open at all times, so that he can look in on me if he wants or needs to.

And even if I wasn't a particularly sexual person, I would try to make some sort of accommodations for him, because I love him and want him to be happy.

All the while, too, I'm thinking and trying to remember things, knowing Daddy would give his left nut to be here - but completely invisible - for any of these types of discussions.

Sometimes I find myself somewhat depressed after these encounters, because of what I learn about other people's relationships.  It's like we're from different planets, and get together every once in a while for some type of sexual cultural exchange. I would not - could not - live as they do, and they certainly have no interest in my lifestyle whatsoever, beyond an excruciating curiosity because of what they consider to be the oddity of it. But we're both almost morbidly curious about the other's way of life.  It's like not being able to look away from a train wreck - from either side.

Vanillas.

<shudder>

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[Lei]

I was once one of those women who "HATED" sex..decorated the bedroom in my head, get in, get out, get done...It has alot to do with the partner, because as soon as evil ex was gone, I was a sex feind, at least in my head.

That is not to say I went out and had a ton of sex, cause I am just not that type of girl (grew up Mormon, still can't drink coffee to this day).

Daddy brings out the little nympo in me, and no I never gave blow jobs before, where as I spend a good amount of my alone time with Daddy sucking cock now...

If you don't love your partner, and don't respect them as such you will always find some way to not be satisfied or interested. And sometimes it just takes you owning up to your own sexuality and kinks.

 I think that is what happened with me. I decided I was going to stop fantasizing and start living...and now I am happily my Daddy's Little Girl.

So yes I agree, the vanilla life is rather boring and mundane, I'd hate to ever go back. {shuddering at the thought}

Thank you for sharing, Carolyn.

[The hiding of an inner,No Siamese's here.]

Actually carolyn, I think feet fetishes are more a submissive male driven thing. I have not seen one dominant man yet who wants to slobber on my feet and worship them, and a lot of submissive men I have.  In dominant Women too it's a form of tribute or something to have the boy or girl make over your feet. I actually have foot and boot worship as a hard limit. because the idea of chewing on someone's feet is nasty. I won't even give feet rubs unless they had just washed their feet, and are fresh out of the shower.

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

Gratefully . . . humbly . . .


For some reason, I was feeling very . . . fragile last night, crying all over Daddy, over everything and nothing at all.

I was okay all day.  Had my sister up and we watched more of our “24â€� marathon and ate ham and cheesecake . . .

When Daddy came home hours later, we cuddled up in bed, and I was just overwhelmed with sadness all of a sudden, and practically threw myself into his arms, very certain of my reception although still compulsed to apologize when I was still soaking his shirt in my tears hours later.

But, with Daddy, that’s perfectly okay.

Daddy understands.

We watched “Birth� – the movie with Nicole Kidman and an extraordinary young actor who plays a ten year old boy who says he’s her husband – and it was so much about loss that it set me off again, and Daddy held and comforted me.

And then the most wondrous thing happened, as it so often does with Daddy.

We lay together, in the soft darkness, in our big bed, with the dog stretched out at the end and the cats making occasional appearances for naps; Smeagie butting his big white head against Daddy’s hand or curling up in the small of my back, and the Baby kneading and purring and yowling for attention, then not wanting it when she got it.  It had finally cooled down from the awful heat and humidity of the day and the windows were open, fans wafting the night's loamy, wet scent across our bodies as we lay in a pile, me curled up against Daddy’s side, my cheek on his chest, his strong hand rubbing my back hypnotically.

We talked.  For hours.

I cried, of course.  I’m crying now, writing this as I remember it. 

It was a simple, intimate infinity, and one of the most memorable nights of my life – unplanned, unrehearsed - both raw and indescribably tender, murmuring alone in the dark about remembrances from the past (my parents, who are still so alive in my heart and mind, if not physically close at hand) and plans for the future, of traveling south and west and north, to discover Daddy’s lost tribe of polar bears.

Lucious.

Deeper and richer than any slab of cheesecake, and infinitely more nourishing.

Thank you, Daddy

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[TwinklesDG]

This is in response to Miss Carolyn’s post of 06/10/2005 sorry its late but I didn’t get to finish it before the weekend madness .also if you feel it needs to be somewhere else ...I always respect the administator’s decision:

There are various reasons why  woman turn themselves off from sex from past unpleasant relationships to physical problems ... which are somewhat understandable but there are those that just don't want it or like it ...Of which I am not one and find it hard to understand why anyone does not like the most natural physical emotion between consenting adults but I am not here to judge .

I have found though that going thru menopause can be a factor for older woman , which i was starting to go thru an becoming bitchier, moodier and experiencing foggy thinking , hot flashes and weight gain ( It hadn’t yet affected my libido and I didn’t want it too I love sex (with the right person of course )and didn’t  ever want to become like the disinterested older women I knew.that just didn’t care about it anymore) I kept feeling that  if this is what getting older is going to be about ...please just kill me now i did not want to become a bitter middle aged woman like my biomom .... really i wanted to die ....I was becoming very hard to live with for my kids an friends.... thats when another friend who had had a hysterectomy was also going thru loosing her sexual desire an she just got married.. She was experiencing vaginal dryness  the works 

she came across the book The Sexy Years by Suzanne Somers and wow it was a life saver for both of us ...please if you feel you are going thru what  I described above it’s a great  book ...its  about hormone replacement but bio-identical hormones not synthetic ones ....she has interviews with woman of all ages from 3o’s to 80's and doctors and even a chapter concerning male menopause.... Yep the guys go thru it to its all hormonal . Hormones control all your body functions (there are more than the female an male sex hormones ...there are so many others that we have to maintain and keep us  healthy ...

So I have been on the bio-identical hormones for a little more that a year but with in about 2 months of bio identical HRT was feeling better , thinking better an not so bitchy ( will always be a little bitchy or bratty but not as bad giggles) . It takes time an patience to find the right combination ... after you take the saliva test ( I call it the spit test you have to spit into test tubes for a day when you get up, lunch , dinner an b-4 bed ... it gets overnighted to a lab in Oregon you get the results an you an your doctor review the tests along with a compounding pharmacist .. To get the right hormone cocktail ...it may take a few tries to see how your body reacts but you will get there..and you usually test yourself again  once or twice a year depends on your doctor ....but thats  the trick finding a doctor who uses bio identical hormones ...I found the pharmacy first and then asked what doctors use them ...but read the book really it so informative and then read others. Don’t accept what misery you ma y be going thru as just a passage of life .... it doesn’t have to be it can be the best time of your life   I am reading the book now by Suzanne’s Somers Dr ..The Schwarzbein Principal ll The Transition  between her book the Sexy Years an her eating program I am feeling great physically an mentally (well lets just say menopause isn’t causing my mental frustration... winks)

Climbing off soap box .... sorry I am a bit fanatical about this ... note it will also make you angry  that the medical arena does not strongly encourage this as it should as it is not a money making treatment ... and most of the creams and tests are not covered by insurance cause it is not the standard hormone treatment .... as the synthetics are ..which can cause cancer. But since more an more woman are using this  method ,  I believe eventually they will have to reconsider covering it ,

Thanks for reading and hope it helps someone as the books have helped me .... These are my sexy years and I am gonna fight to keep them an my health you should too ....... winks

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

Thanks for the info, Twinkles!

I'll suggest these things to T. and M., but unfortunately I'd be surprised if they did anything about it.  It's like neither one of them feels any lack of sex (or even just basic intimacies like cuddling) in their lives.

Each to their own, I guess.  As long as they're happy . . .

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[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

I'm feelin' . . . outta sorts.






**note to self:  buy more sorts.

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[TwinklesDG]

gibing wou some  huggies til wou able to get more sorts .......

its weally a yukkie fweeling when wou is out of dem isn't its .... sighs an awos sending wou some Sunny Smiles for deeze wainy days

wuvs

Twinkles

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

I don't know if anyone (or everyone) else experiences things this way, but I've often found myself, in my adult life, feeling as if things weren't quite right.  I never had that feeling when I was a child (but then I was probably one of the least self-aware children ever conceived.  Self-involved, yes.  Self-aware, no).

The feelings started when I moved out for the first time, dating the man who would become my ex, working in retail . . . then marrying him and moving all over everywhere.  I'd lived on the same street for the first 22 years of my life, until then, and all of a sudden, I guess I felt like I had no home.  Lord knows, Michael wasn't any help in creating one, since he seemed to energetically pursue being anywhere (and with anyone) but me.

I just felt, successively moreso with each move, that this wasn't what I was supposed to be doing, somehow.  That things just . . . weren't right.

And I can look back now and see that I was both right and wrong about that.  Daddy and I often talk about what it would have been like for us if we'd met before we did.  Although it would be great to have met and married him instead of Michael, I  think that would have been wrong, too.  I was an extremely different person.  We met at the perfect time.  Things were right.  My experiences with Michael have made me who I am, made me the person Daddy fell in love with.  I don't think he would have liked me very much if we'd met when I was younger . . . although maybe if we had I would have stopped being so self-absorbed sooner . . .

Meeting Daddy was the first time in my adult life that I felt things were really right with me again.  I've tried to explain it to him, but what I've said is that I feel more secure with him than I have since I was a little girl.  And that's some of it.  It's the first time that things have felt the way they should.  It's like something snapped into place when I met him.  Something that had been missing, or at least, off kilter, for a very long time.

With him, I know can concentrate on the important things - him, of course, and those I love.

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[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

I'm soooooooooooooooo tired.  Been sleeping a gazillion hours a day, and I'm still tired.

Threw my back out this weekend - YEOW!  I don't like pain; it hurts me.  It was all that vigorous Tripoli playing.  If I'd won, I could say that it was carting around all that change, but we had an unusual week this time and everyone *but* us was winning.

Made Candy Bar Bars for everyone to munch on while we played.  Eh.  Prolly won't do that again.  They came out very so-so as far as I'm concerned. 

Have I told you lately how much I detest writing?  I have a reasonably good story in my haid - can't seem to get much of it out on paper . . .  er, into the computer.  It's like . . . mental constipation, I guess.  Not writer's block, because, Lord knows I don't get that.  I can wrestle it out in dribs and drabs, but not the 12 hour, 12,000 word chunks I've done in the past, apparently, which is, of course, exactly what I need to do right now.

Sigh.

[nattie]

Am I allowed to say hi, in here?  i just read the latest update, and it sure sounds like it's writin' good!  Actually, the slowness makes this just seem a more finely crafted piece, because of it!  Okay ... and now, i'm trying to come up with something other than, "i think this is my favorite, so far!" ... but yet again, it IS!  If you would quit makin' each story better than the last one, then i wouldn't sound so redundant!  It's perfect, so far, absolutely perfect! 

 

[playfulpixie]

Hello Carolyn,

Been reading your musings. They got me to pondering. Funny how that happens. 

Your musing on feeling out of sorts during the time period you were with Ex-M got me thinking. It may be you were out of sorts because you had no home anymore. You had a home with your parents and you have a home with your Husband/Daddy a/k/a Unka Bobby. Home is a state of mind not a place. In the song "Your My Home" Billy Joel states well.

So Welcome Home.

 

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

When I let myself think about it, it's an absolutely unbearable thought that I will never see my parents again . . . never hear them have one of their playful (read:  loud) discussions, never hear my Dad impatiently jangling the keys and change in his pocket as he waits for us girls and Mom to get ready to go out to dinner, never taste another of Mom's homemade Christmas cheesecakes . . . never watch them dance (badly, but with feeling) in the middle of that cramped living room floor to some ancient Glenn Miller tune.

No one I ever cared about had died on me until Daddy in '92, and he went very unexpectedly, dying on the table during an attempted triple bypass surgery.  I never really got to say goodbye - kissing him as he was wheeled into the operating room does not count, as far as I'm concerned - and never told him I loved him, although I'm pretty sure he knew.

I was lucky enough to grow up in a wonderful home full of tons of laughter and books you couldn't put down or someone else would start reading them, and loud discussions (Daddy was a big guy with a booming voice, but a wonderful nature - if you ignored how penurious he was), even at the dinner table, about everything you weren't supposed to discuss in polite company.  But then, we never really considered ourselves polite company . . .

He and Mom were opposites.  He was a Republican, and she was a Democrat - they always said they cancelled each other out in every election.  He was tighter than the bark on a tree as a result of growing up very poor during the Depression.  My Mom's father always had a good paying job, even in the 30's, and she always had money . . . till she married Dad.

But they loved each other unquestioningly, throughout those years of not having the proverbial pot, enduring seven pregnancies but only ending up with three kids, all of their parents dying, and raising those three boisterous kids (and their friends, who always seemed to congregate at our house), creating some wonderful traditions along the way.

Of course, my Dad passed along his quirky sense of humor . . . at least to one of my sisters and myself, anyway.  We were always the center of attention at our Saturday night restaurant outings, because we were always talking and laughing and joking with the waitress.

That weird sense of humor even shown through when my Mom got Hepatitis C in the early 80's, and got terribly jaundiced.  It was February, I remember; a time when Mom often got the blues because of the weather, and it was worse then because she was so sick.

So my sister and I decided to get her some flowers to cheer her up.  It was my bright idea to get ones that matched her complexion - so we gave her a big bouquet of yellow roses, and, of course, told her why they were yellow, which at least made her laugh.  From that point on, we never gave her any other type or color of flower - Mother's Day, her birthday . . . whenever.  When she died, there was a full bouquet of yellow roses in her room, and we put two dozen on her grave at the service.

We still get my Mom yellow roses, in her memory (and in Dad's) on all of her (or their) special days.  Three roses, one for each child.

I didn't really get to say goodbye to Mom, either.  I was too busy being mad at her because of the way she let herself go after Daddy died.  The strong, competent, self-confident woman I had grown up with drifted away, slowly and painfully (and consciously) over the next almost ten years.  She'd told me the night he died that she didn't want to live if he wasn't going to be in the world with her, then set about being miserable, instead of enjoying what she had, until she begged my sister and I, every night, to kill her.

When she finally had the heart attack that brought about her end almost a month later, I was the one who was with her when she died, whispering to her to go to Daddy, knowing he'd be standing there on the other side with open arms.  I will never forget it.  Her worst fear was that she'd die alone, and we made damned sure that didn't happen.

It's why I went out to Daddy - so that he wouldn't die alone.  I feel her hands on my back about that to this day.



Somedays, like today, I think I would give anything I have just to see them happily together again.

Even though I'm not at all a religious person, I like to think that they're together somewhere again, dancing badly on a cloud and laughing, waiting for the rest of the family to join them.


One of my deepest regrets is that they never got to meet the man of my dreams.


<wiping tears off the laptop>

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

Not long after Daddy and I started chatting seriously, I had an actual dream about being on GI (the Snuggery, of course, because that's all there was at that point).  This is an account of that dream that was written two and a half years ago.




The Snuggery was a big building, kind of a combination of a huge bed and breakfast - a big, mansion-y type of place - with a real, functional grade school attached.  Most of what went on at first happened in the lobby between the two areas, just outside of a huge gymnasium.

The whole place was full of kids and adults doing all sorts of activities, and there were people dressed up as cartoon
characters and animals, a la Disneyworld (I remember Pooh and Tigger distinctly).

I knew was supposed to be helping people – lots of them were rushing around me and laughing and talking – someone came to get me and took me to a girl who was sitting in the gym, bored, so I suggested all sorts of things she could do – asked her what she liked to do, which was sports, sports, and more sports.

While I was trying to help the girl find something she wanted to do (and there were other concerned adults around me – I was not a child in this dream), someone came and told me that they knew that Unka Bobby wanted to see me.  He occupied the penthouse floor at the top of the building, which apparently was also a high rise, of sorts.

[At this point, Daddy was not my Daddy yet.  He wasn't really even my Unka.]

I got waylaid again at the elevator – a big, almost industrial looking elevator, very wide and cavernous, and brightly
decorated, but obviously from thirty years ago and not elaborate, almost cheesy.

I was talking to someone else who needed my help about something when a headless butler came out of the elevator and touched my arm.  He couldn’t say anything – and I wasn’t afraid of him at all, which would be unusual for me, since I'm a fraidy cat – he was like a robot UB had built, nothing to be scared of.  He raised his right hand and index finger, gesturing up and I
knew this was a nudge to get upstairs to UB.  I knew Unka Bobby had sent him to get me.

I stepped into the elevator and there was a panel – I didn’t notice what the other choices were, I was just concerned that
there wasn’t a button for the penthouse.  But it turned out that I didn’t need a button – the elevator knew who I was and
where I needed to go automagically.

I met other adults and kids – more adults than kids – when the elevator opened, and I stopped to talk to them just as I got
off, then I turned and Unka Bobby was there (in all his Wilford Brimley/Dr. Petofi glory) in front of the doors to an
auditorium (like in a high school) and he was looking at me like he wasn't happy because he thought I had dawdled on my way
up – but I hadn't, I was just trying to help people as best I could along the way, knowing that was what he would want me to do.

He was wearing a white dress shirt and tan pants, and I was helping him shrug into his ceremonial robe.  It was a black
graduation gown.  He was wearing a horrid gray wig like Thayer David used to in Dark Shadows when he played Count Petofi.

He turned away to stride into the hall, and I kind of rudely left the people I was talking to be cause I knew that he was
about to start whatever it was that he'd called me up there for.  I really wanted to talk to him, because I was worried that
he was mad at me for being late (which I never am in real life), but I knew better than to approach him when he was doing
something “formal� – and the line from his [old] signature about “pay no attention to the man behind the curtain� rolled
through my mind continually.  I knew he was going to go behind the curtain at the front of the room to do something mysterious and powerful.  Kinda like the Wizard of Oz.

So I took a seat.  An orange cushioned, black-backed fold down seat.

But then nothing happened, because I woke up.  I never got to find out what he was doing!

There was a lot of orange in this dream (my least favorite color – orange in the elevator, orange in the hall, orange on the seat, and one of the characters downstairs with all the kids was Tigger – like, only all orange, no stripes.)

It was – all in all  - an extremely positive dream, except for my concerns about Unka Bobby being unhappy with me for not getting to him quickly enough.




I still strongly remember the feelings this dream evoked - love, safety, understanding, and just the slightest touch of concern for the health and safety of my bottom if I didn't obey Unka Bobby.  Kinda like our lives now  . . .

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

Things I wanna do before I grow up:

Go to Mecca (Disney World)

Go to the other Mecca (Disney LAND).

Ride every roller coaster I can find.

Own a big, pretty carousel horse.

Own an elaborate slot car racing system with lots of twists and turns.

Blow the perfect bubble.

Read Narnia and the Harry Potter books.

Finger paint

Learn how to do a fun craft project and not worry about whether or not it comes out PERFECT.

Swim naked

Swim in the Atlantic

Swim in the Pacific

[hana]

With three things crossed off i cannot help but wonder if ya' did all three of those things at once! 
You didn't swim naked in the Atlantic ocean while you were on vacation at Disney World, did you?

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

<snickering and giggling and blushing, all at once>

No, not all at once . . . but that sounds like an interesting idear . . .

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm . . .   

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

<munching happily and thinking that leftover turkey makes an excellent Miracle Whip delivery system . . . >

[subversivelittleone]

giggled out loud on that one! Miracle Whip delivery system!!! heehee
(a friend of mine once called his single tail that too)

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

Colonoscopy . . . Isn’t that a city in Poland?


Okay, well, I’ll spare you the excruciating details, but let’s just say that I’ve been having digestive problems for quite some time now.  Been through all of the medications, the vampirish blood tests, the barium X-ray, and the endoscopy (the biggest test of “does she swallow� ever invented . . . <grin>).

I just have to get my thoughts about the experience off my chest.  Okay, well, a little lower, but you know what I mean.

So I found myself somewhat reluctantly scheduled for a colonoscopy.  For you virgins out there – and one is waiting for you, believe me, once your doctor realizes just how old you really are – a colonoscopy is where they stick a very long, thick tube that contains a tiny camera up inside you, where no man has gone before . . . well, for some of you, anyway.  For my own sake, let’s just leave it at “no man� . . . and, besides, it certainly wasn’t pictures he was after, regardless.   

But I digress.  I dutifully drank the vile concoction they give you for the night before and the morning of – hello, can we discuss the intelligence of giving a woman who’s been having problems with nausea something that tastes like fizzy lemonade with three pounds of salt in it?  And that was after a day of – oh, boy yum-mee – broth, orange Popsicles, and – can I possible stand all of this exciting food? -  you guessed it, more broth.

I got there and filled out several thousand forms – the annoying part of visiting a doctor that we fetishists seem to like to skip right over for some strange reason - then disrobed to don that wonderful medical fashion statement:  the johnny, conveniently open down the back.  Shudder.  They wheeled me into the procedure room, and then doped me up, but nowhere near enough I was soon to discover. I was relaxed, but very far from out.

They lull you into a false sense of security, they do.  You start out all safe and snug in a bed on your back with a blanket up to your waist, covering your nakididity.  But it doesn’t stay that way.  Oh no.  They make you turn on your left side and bend your right leg (a position that I am quite intimately familiar with but not with an audience of more than one, thank you very much), only to rudely discover that your nose is mere inches from a huge color TV screen that can probably be seen by blind little old ladies with cataracts in Canada.  Only this one ain’t playing Bob Barker.  I mean, the man is old as dirt, but he doesn’t look like that! 

There I was in all of my glory, staring my own permanent vertical smile right in the face . . . uh, well . . .  I can’t imagine that Elle McPherson looks very good from this angle, either, but then maybe that’s because I’m on the wrong end of the kink.  Let me tell you, the mere sight made me immediately murmur a prayer reversing a lot of invections I’d previously heaped on my ex’s head.

Quickly, I looked around me to see if there was a remote I could use to change the channel – the All Golf channel, Advanced Basket Weaving, I would even have settled for C-SPAN <shudder> – I didn’t much care as long as I wasn’t looking still looking at what I was looking at.  But the dedicated, sadistic staff in there belonged in the worst BDSM dungeon.  They absolutely refused to switch it to “Young and Restless�, despite the bribes I offered.

Before I knew it, I was getting up close and personal with parts of myself I never knew I owned – except after a big meal at a Mexican restaurant and even then - and really had no particular interest in admiring, either – especially “live via satellite�.  But what could I do?  I’m sorry.  This might sound a bit priggish, especially considering what I do for a living, but there are just parts of yourself that a human bean is not intended to see, and this, my friends, is one of the least inviting.  It reminded me of the gynecologist who wanted to put a mirror down there for me.  Uh, no thanks. I’d prefer to just lie back and braille my way through it, thank you very much.

I do have to say that my heart nearly burst with pride when I was complimented on how clean my colon was.  Lovely.  Does that go on my permanent record or what, Doc?  “Patient was clean as a whistle, inside and out.�  Marvelous.  Something to tell my poker friends the next time there’s a lull in the conversation . . . “Oh, by the way . . .�  Klunk.

It was all over in much too long a time, and they had me turn onto my back for the exciting trip back to the discharge area – and I do mean that description quite literally, but I’ll get to that in a minute.  Meanwhile, as they were wheeling me out, I was wondering where to put the fifty dollars since there wasn’t a bureau in this room . . . but the top of the TV sufficed nicely in a pinch . . . or rather a poke. 

The discharge room (or, as my hairdresser puts it, the only place in the world where you’re not allowed to leave until you’ve passed gas):  the colonoscopy blows air into your innards, you see, and all of that air – collected from insurance companies and drug company salesmen, I’m quite sure – has to go somewhere.  It simply cannot be allowed to wander around inside you willy-nilly, no matter that it has quite other ideas of knocking about your intestines for at least a year or so trying to “find� itself . . .

So.  The nice nurse comes over – nurses do nothing for me whatsoever, unless they’re male and look like Josh Holloway, in which case he can tell me to turn my head and cough all he wants, as long as his fingers are in the right position – and says, “You cannot leave until you pass gas.�
Six words I never in my life expected to hear.  And they’re not talking about any Sunday morning, church pew, “one-cheek-sneaks�, either. 

Oh, so you mean the other rubes around me who were tooting off like they’d feasted just down the street at the B&M baked bean factory weren’t just being uncouth?  Hmmmmmm.  I had to readjust my snootier-than-thou attitude, and right quick, because the troops were beginning to assemble restlessly at the gate, if you know what I mean . . .

Well, anyway, I survived it (didn’t help the doc diagnose anything after all of that, of course, but then maybe a fifty wasn’t enough . . .). 

I’d have to say, all in all, it was just like a mammogram - only not as pleasant.  You ladies know what I mean . . .

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

Well, I'm back in the "real" workforce.

I can't tell you - and I can't really even tell Daddy - about how sad that makes me.  It's kinda stupid - I was crying on him about the lack of a job every day, with various pressures bearing down on us, and now I'm crying every morning because I *have* a job (albeit a sweatshop one) to go to.  We have had such a wonderful, charmed life, being together all day, nearly every single day.  And the last time I went to a regular job, I was practically suicidal, I was so completely unhappy.

But I shouldn't anticipate that.

And I shouldn't even be complaining about it, because I know it hurts Daddy.  He's doing the best that he can, I know.

But today's my first day, and all I want to do is cry and never leave him.  And I know that's just being a baby.  I need to step up and do what needs to be done.



I'm terrified.

I'm afraid I won't do well (although it's in an area in which I have a considerable amount of experience and expertise), and I'm afraid I'm going to be miserable, and we can't afford for me to be miserable.

 

[daddiesgirl]

hope tis ok to post here......
but i used to feel just like you do......I HATE CHANGE......in any form.
but i realised that i was only gonna be miserable and sad if i let myself be......i was the first time i gotta real job.
and cos i was sad all the time others i worked with picked up on it and thought i was just un-social......i didnt wanna tell them i was sad and didnt adapt to changes......they wouldve probly thought i was just lazy.......i ended up going on the sick for depression for 4yrs......there was other stuff going on in my life also.
but now......even though im sick of my current job{security officer}....i just get on with it......i try and smile and be happy but im happier when my shift nears the end.
ive been thinking about getting another job but dunno what i wanna do yet.....plus the thought of changes puts me off looking.
hope things look up for real soon.

[subversivelittleone]

It amazes me how much we all have in common sometimes.  I started my new job today too!
I cried several times uncontrollably yesterday and wouldn't tell Daddy why.
It's a temp job and only lasts till Thursday so i can tough it out...But then i have to go look for something else all over again.
What really scares me is, people look at me and automatically assume that
a)I have kids- you must, you're over thirty and fat right?
b)I have a degree- you must, you're over thirty and seeking professional jobs
c)If you've lived all over the place you're either in the military, married to one, on drugs or running from the law
Which is ridiculous!
And then i observe them doing their jobs and all it is is paper shuffling, emails, phone calls, saying the right thing at the right time and going to lots of meetings.  Yup, yup, i can do thaaa-aat!
Today i help an HR lady and got privvy to personnell files.  I was shocked! People with similar or less experience making like forty, fifty grand a year! But i guess they have degrees or something.
I know it's stupid to whine about not having one when you can go online these days and pretty much purchase one, but i just haven't for whatever reason, crossed that bridge.
So. I feel for you both.  Staying home afforded me the chance to at least sleep with him for more than a couple hours, and little things like breakfast/dinner.  So much for that.

[TwinklesDG]

leavin Huggies for eberyune ...meeez know tumtimes change is very hard and leavin the one U cares about the most .Me don''t hab a Daddy so maybe dis will make You fweel better in that when you is awl done with work you get to come home to Your Daddys wuving arms to comforts You after a yukkies days at work. to shares your day:  the Happy ones that make U smiles an the sad or fwustating ones dat bring tears ....


Wishin U awlls a easy fwirst new day at works  ... ( if u fweelin blue have a lollipop bweak instead of a coffee bweak) ( HUM ask Ur Daddies Fwirst though about eating candy.. they do have sugarfwee lollipops ya knows) 

sening U warm smiles tooz

Twinkles   

[Carolyn Faulkner (PaddledLittleGirl)]

It sure is okay to post here, Daddiesgirl!!  And you're right - sometimes if you put on a happy face, it ends up becoming how you feel.  (<whispering>  and I think the end of the shift is the happiest time of all, too . . .     )

S.l.o., good luck in your new job!  Daddy and I are trying to set aside "special time" every day, and that helps.

And Twinkles <snort!  I originally typo'd your name into "Tinkles"   >, thank you for the huggles!

Thank you all for your wonderful responses!  Things are getting a little better, slowly.

Peepsqueak