TODAY IS TUESDAY

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Today is Tuesday and I feel out of sorts.

I've been feeling as if something is not quite right, but I'm not sure what it is. I apologize because I haven't been commenting on your blogs as much as I like. I simply don't have anything to say.

I'm also having a rough time -- for the first time ever -- at coming up with topics for my blog. What? you say. This cannot be so. Janie Junebug is the mouth of the south. She always has something to say.

The last few days I've experienced a sense of loss -- as in I want my life back, I want the custom-made pleated shades from my family room in Illinois (doesn't matter that they wouldn't fit the windows in this house; I WANT them), and then I want to move back into the house we had in Maryland, the house that I designed. Why did I ever agree to leave? I went along, and went along, and went along, until finally I wasn't invited to go along anymore.

I thought when I left Illinois that I would return to finalize the divorce. We settled out of court. So even though it's been two years or so since we settled, I suddenly think of something I don't have that I meant to get out of the house when I returned, which I didn't do. Yesterday I was eating fruit out of a plastic container and it popped into my head that my glass dishes on little pedestals that are perfect for fruit are in Illinois -- out of my reach.

Dr. X won't let me have anything I left behind even though he promised that The Hurricane and I could leave items in the house and pick them up later. He says that when the divorce went through that everything in the house became his. I couldn't have my flatware when I asked for it -- he said it was gone -- and I know he won't let me have the glass dishes on little pedestals that my sister gave to me.

Things that didn't seem important to me before are now very important.

I am lonely. I don't get to spend enough time with Elvis Aaron Schwarz. I don't see enough of Favorite Young Man and Little Chick. I haven't seen The Hurricane in more than a year. Something I wanted to do fell through.

I think I am one of Mitt Romney's 47% because I want Obamacare to go through. Without Obamacare, I can't get insurance because I have pre-existing conditions. I want a job.

I'm not sleeping well. I can't sleep at night and then I sleep all day. I'm discombobulated.

I'm not making progress on my other writing. I started a book on this blog, but as soon as I stopped blogging the book, I stopped writing it.

So, I guess what I'm saying, Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell, is that I need some tender loving care. I need you to help me erase some of this loneliness. If you have blog topics for me, please suggest them.
Or ask me questions that I can answer on my blog.

I have one piece of good news. A cold front moved in last night. It's cool and lovely and comfortable outside. I think I'll be able to walk the dogs this morning.

God bless cool weather. It's okay if it doesn't last.

At least I have a taste of it.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

I'll get over this.

PREGGERS WHAT? MONDAY

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I watched the second episode of Call The Midwife and it has me wondering about your unusual, funny, or interesting stories regarding pregnancy and childbirth.

I knew a young woman whose baby was delivered at home by a midwife. She told me that three hours after she gave birth she was up and washing the bloody sheets. I was rather surprised the midwife didn't clean up and give her after-the-baby is born care, but she was on her own. I don't know how she did it. I could barely walk for a few hours after my children arrived.

I also know a woman who had an underwater birth. Her head was above the water, of course, but the baby was born underwater. I'm not sure how that works, but she said it was a very calm and easy way to give birth.

I didn't use any drugs during childbirth. I didn't want my kids to be born with medications in their systems, but when I mention this to other women, they usually say, Oh, I could never do that.

I don't think I'm that much tougher than anyone else, but I do seem to have a somewhat higher threshold of pain.

When Favorite Young Man was ready to enter the big wide world, the doctor had not yet arrived at the hospital. His head was protruding from my vagina (I said vagina especially for Sandra), and the nurses didn't want to deliver a baby so they pushed him back inside me! All that work I'd already done, and pop! he just went back in.

When I had The Hurricane we told the nurses what had happened with FYM. They were shocked and said, That would never happen here!

Anyway, these anecdotes lead to our What? Monday question, which is the following: Do you have any interesting or unusual stories to tell about your pregnancies or giving birth?

Of course, gentlemen are also welcome to participate. When my dad took my mom to the hospital for the birth of their first child, the nurse started asking him question for the paperwork she needed to fill out. She asked my dad what his wife's name was. He look at my mom and said, What IS your name?

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

THE ARGUMENT 2012

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Did any of you watch the Obama-Romney debate on Wednesday night?

You did, yes, and you. I see a decent number of hands so you must be paying attention.

Good! I'm glad so many of you watched, but were you as perplexed as I was? Jim Lehrer, the moderator for the debate, began by announcing the "rules." Each candidate would have a set amount of time to speak on a topic or answer a question. However, the candidates just kept jabbering when their time was up. They also didn't answer questions directly for the most part. I could hear Jim Lehrer make little grunty noises as each man said, And I just want to make one more point.

The so-called debate was an out of control train. In fact, it reminded me of arguments between Dr. X and Moi.

Dr. X -- I love you. I want to stay married to you forever.

Moi -- I'm so glad.

Dr. X -- I want a divorce.

Moi -- What?

Dr. X -- I didn't say anything.

Moi -- What?

Dr. X -- What's wrong with you?

Moi -- You just said you want a divorce.

Dr. X -- No, I didn't. You have borderline personality disorder and I can see when you go into an altered state. Your eyes get darker.

Moi -- I have never been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. You have a major case of crazy. How can you say that you want a divorce when you just said you want to stay married forever?

Dr. X -- I did not say I want a divorce. You are crazy. I'm going to see to it that you're locked up in a mental institution for the rest of your life.

Moi -- You're crazy. You should have been hospitalized a long time ago. You need to take your meds.

Dr. X -- I don't need meds. You're crazy.

Moi -- I am not. It's you. You're the one who's crazy.

Dr. X -- You're crazy. I'm not crazy.

Moi --  You're crazy. I'm not crazy.

Blah, blah, blah. And Jim Lehrer wasn't even there to make little grunty noises when we exceeded our time limits and didn't stick to the point.

I'd like to see true debates between the candidates. I was a better debater as a high school student. At least I knew I couldn't have extra time by saying "I want to make one more point." And I knew I had to remain focused and stick to the subject. High school debates also tended to be considerably more lively.

C'mon, Candidates. You can do better, and you should.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

THIS WEEK AT MY HOUSE

More Elvis Aaron Schwarz news coming up!


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

My week began with a bang (no, not that kind of banging) and a scream when I awoke Sunday morning. Or, rather, I should say I was awakened when the head of my bed suddenly slammed down and my head was pointed toward the floor. The support underneath the head of the bed had given out for the second time.

I can't sleep with my head pointing toward the floor, and waking with a bang! can be a rather daunting prospect, so I decided to get up and head for the family room. But when I opened the closet door to get my slippers,

a critter who looked very much like this one was on the left slipper. At least he wasn't inside it. Then I would have encountered him with my toes.

I picked up the heel of the slipper, intending to shake him off and then smack him. Instead, he ran toward me as soon as I went for the slipper. How can something with such a tiny brain be so smart? I guess that's why everyone says cockroaches can survive a nuclear holocaust.

As Senor Cucaracha ran toward me, I screamed, grabbed the slipper, and started smacking him. It only took about ten whacks to kill the mighty bastard.

Later in the day, as my eyes drooped from lack of sleep, Favorite Young Man very kindly arrived to repair the bed. He also mowed the lawn -- that sweetie pie

The next evening, his two little girls arrived for a happy visit with me. They have now returned to their own home.

I've started reading a book, The Lieutenants by W.E.B. Griffin, that was a gift from Elvis Aaron Schwarz. I gave him a book called Open Doors: An Anthology and requested that he turn to page 40 to read my story, XO. You can join Elvis Aaron Schwarz in reading my story by going to http://www.amazon.com/Open-Doors-An-Anthology-Volume/dp/1477455132 to buy this book of science fiction and fantasy from Wayman Publishing. You'll find some of your favorite bloggers here, and I hope I'm included as one of your favorites.

I know you'll want to read a book if Elvis Aaron Schwarz reads it.

Hi! Remember me? I'm Elvis Aaron Schwarz.
This is my intellectual pose.
I know you'll want to read a book if I read it.
I love my baby doll's story, which appears on  page forty.
Do you like my rhyme? I rhyme all the time.

I also gave Elvis Aaron Schwarz some Hemp Body Butter from The Body Shop, maker and seller of my favorite lotions and potions. Last night when Elvis Aaron Schwarz called, he said, I'm going to take a shower and put on some of that marijuana cream you gave me.

That Elvis Aaron Schwarz!

So now here we are at Wednesday evening, and yes, I'll make this Thursday's post by manipulating the date. Why do I do that? I don't know. Sometimes I just do.

Maybe it's because my week started off with a bang.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

CALL THE MIDWIFE

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

For your viewing pleasure, I recommend a show on PBS. It's a gift to us from the BBC, and the title is Call the Midwife.

The first episode begins with young nurse and newly qualified midwife Jenny Lee arriving for duty at what she thinks is a small private hospital. Instead, it's a convent.

Nurse Lee not only has to become accustomed to living with nuns, including one who seems a bit daft but is very sweet. She has to learn to deal with London's East End tenements and the accompanying chaos and squalor because she goes to the patients' homes -- such as they are.

Her first patient is a young woman preparing to give birth to her 25th child! Nurse Lee is invited to join the family for a meal, which means everyone sits at a table, spooning food out of a pot placed in the middle. It's also considered quite shocking that the patient's husband remains in the room during the birth.

This show provides a fascinating look back at 1950's London. The midwife travels on her bicycle over the cobblestone streets in all kinds of weather, dealing with tragedy and triumph brought about by love. The nuns and nurses, all midwives, deliver 80 - 100 babies every month. Keep in mind that the birth control pill was not yet available. In fact, any method of birth control was generally not available, especially to the poor. Call the Midwife is based on a memoir by a midwife, whose words are included as narration at times.

The show is on Sunday evenings. You should check your local TV listings for times. It is NOT appropriate for children, unless you want to give them a rather shocking lesson in where babies come from.

If you missed the first episode, you can watch it at http://video.pbs.org/video/2284744812.

Now, speaking of giving birth at home, do you know which U. S. President was the first to be born in a hospital?

I'll let you answer the question, and then I'll tell you if anyone is right about the president. And no fair asking Google for the answer.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

P.S. Jo-Anne Meadows answered the question correctly. The first U. S. president born in a hospital was Jimmy Carter.

TWO LITTLE GIRLS

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

It's wild and crazy here in Dogtown. The Z Boys have visitors -- Favorite Young Man's two little girls, Stella and Liesl. They're staying with us for a couple of days while Favorite Young Man and Little Chick take a much needed mini-vacation.

Stella and Liesl's brother, Tater the chihuahua, is staying with Little Chick's parents.

Here are the kids on their home turf:

From left: Tater, Liesl, and Stella at home.

We've had a lot of insane running in circles going on here in Dogtown. With five wild things instead of three . . . well, you'd think there were ten doggies in this house, or maybe twenty.

Stella has proven herself Top Biscuit Snatching Dog.

The girls miss their dad (Favorite Young Man):

We're having a somewhat more serious problem than mere homesickness, however. The girls don't want to go out, even if I join them.

Thus, someone pooped in the middle of the bed today (not my bed, thank Heavens, but the bed in the extra bedroom), and then someone peed on the area rug in the family room.

Now, I'm not saying that it was definitely the girls, but considering they've been outside all of once today, it seems pretty likely to me that they are the guilty parties.

But why cast blame? The girls were so sweet, cuddling me in bed last night. A little poop here, a little pee there -- it's not the end of the world. We can clean it up together.

Or, I can leave it for Favorite Young Man to clean up when he returns.

No. Forget that. It's too stinky.

And that's the news from Dogtown.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

VACATION WHAT? MONDAY

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I know a number of us have been enjoying Elisa's Southern California vacation photos and stories at The Crazy Life of a Writing Mom. The kids looked pretty darn happy at Knott's Berry Farm, didn't they? And how lucky is Elisa to get to meet the fabulous fishducky?

I'm not crazy about amusement parks now that my children have crossed the line into adulthood, but Oh! boy am I jealous that Elisa and company had lunch with fishducky! She's not the only blogger I'd like to meet, though. I want to grab each and every one of you in a Cinderita-style hug.

But I don't dare ask you which blogger you would most like to meet because then I'd have to answer the question myself. No way could I choose one of you above the others.

So here's a different question instead: What's your dream vacation destination?

I've brought up mine before. I want desperately to go to England. Every English major should get to visit England.

I want to go to the theater in London. Maybe Ralph Fiennes would be acting in something. A friend of The Hurricane's caught him in Oedipus Rex. I've read that play for so many classes. Seeing Ralph Fiennes in it would be amazing.

I'd also like to see Winston Churchill's underground bunker that was in use during WWII. Then I want to try on a few of the Crown Jewels and maybe waltz out with a tiara in my hair. I've heard that I could spend days on end in The Victoria and Albert Museum.

After London I'd head to Yorkshire to walk the moors as the Bronte sisters did. I'd visit Laurence Sterne's house (he wrote the very first stream of conscience novel, Tristram Shandy, before most people had even grasped the concept of a novel). Finally, I'd pay homage to Sylvia Plath by placing tulips on her grave and reciting some of her poetry.

I wouldn't mind following the trip to England with vacations in Ireland, France, Italy, and a few other countries, but I'd best not get ahead of myself. I'll be very, very fortunate if I get to see England.

Now, how about you? What's your dream vacation destination?

I'm looking forward to reading your answers. You're all so interesting.

That's why I offer you

Infinities of love (as my beloved Jane Austen did in her letters to her sister Cassandra),

Janie Junebug