This is the 9^th Father’s day my husband and I have celebrated as parents considering we jumped the gun and observed the unabashedly commercial circus when I was only 5 months pregnant with our son.  Didn’t see any point waiting until he arrived really – as the promise of parenting was enough to have a sickly sweet homage to Grumpy and his ability to knock me up successfully.

Grumpy is an amazing father, a funny dad, an engaging teacher and an excellent role model.  Our quirky kids are lucky to have him.  I’ve thought long and hard about what it is that I appreciate most about his parenting, and it comes back to the very same thing I fell in Love with so many years ago, and continue to fall in Love with over and over again.

My husband is the patriarch of a particularly eccentric crew of peculiar people.  Our weirdness is both bane and blessing in our journey as parents and through life.

I could spend the rest of this blog telling you stories of his beautiful eccentricities, but I think it is probably more useful to change tack a little and illustrate how being bizarre and occasionally disruptive has helped our kids, our social circle, our place in the community, the world, and our marriage.

So what is an eccentric?

Well, according to Wikipedia, the difference between being mentally ill and eccentric lies in the fact that the mentally ill suffer as a result of their behavior and eccentrics are actually quite content being on the fringes of society and dancing to the beat of their own drums.

Okay.  I’ll buy that for a dollar.

I’m also not going to get into the rather sticky territory of mental illness.  I’ll save that for another blog.

I am reminded daily, if not several times a day that my family and I are not normal.  Generally this doesn’t affect me adversely, and not unlike the kindred spirit I married, the fact I was a freak was pointed out early and often.

So what happens when freaks breed?

Well… the freaks create new humans who are probably genetically pre-disposed to freakiness.  Those humans are then exposed to an environment where they are shown by example that pandering to social norms is not as important as being decent, kind, moral, engaged and curious.  The little humans are encouraged to question why things are the way they are.  And then; day by day, week by week, and year by year they strengthen their own morality and even their own eccentricity, and become quirky, funny little people who get glowing reports at parent teacher interviews.  Or at least that seems to be what’s happening here.

I know.  I was as surprised as you.

It is sometimes a daily struggle to cope with the minefield of raising children, from anxiety to bullying and from nutrition to behavior we drop the ball regularly and then pick it up and keep going and doing the best we can to Love and nurture our little people every day.

We accept our rough around the edges offspring for all their individuality, and with all their gifts and challenges.  When they are faced with the heartaches that come from being punched on the playground or excluded from play or told that you are fat or ugly, we are there to listen, offer examples of similar heartaches survived on the canvas of our own childhood, and we hug them, tell them they are Loved and send them back out into the trenches of childhood and life to learn from their knocks and bruises.

My husband is patient, almost to a fault with his children.  Particularly his two boys.  I have a much shorter fuse with them than he does.  He understands how they think and takes great pleasure in watching them figure things out for themselves and engage with the world and the universe around them.

Grumpy has deep and complex physics conversations on relativity and energy and matter with all three of the children, the youngest of whom has just turned three.  Some may call this strange or eccentric, but you know what, some of it certainly sticks.  The older children have more than a rudimentary understanding of science and technology, and their understanding of physics far surpasses my own.

Researching this blog I found out that Einstein used to pontificate at length about matter, energy and the universe to his young nephew.  I’d like to know what happened to that kid actually.

My son stated rather plainly several years ago, shortly after starting school:  “Dad’s a nerd isn’t he?”  To which I responded: “What makes you say that?”  And he rattled off the features that do indeed safely secure his status as a nerd.  We also concluded that based on the criteria, I was also a nerd, despite not being as clever as Dad at maths and science.

“Does it bother you that your parents are nerds?”  I asked him.

“No.  I think its cool.”  Was his earnest response.

I felt that was a considerable parenting win.

I am somewhat certain that our eccentricity will be a source of deep and painful embarrassment to our children in years to come.  Much like my parent’s rather consistent normality caused me so much fabricated mental torture I suppose.  But they will cope, and come to appreciate their nerdy and socially awkward parents and the desire they had to plant and nurture seeds of strangeness in them through example and genetics.

So I’d like to make a heartfelt and genuine shout out to anyone who might relate to this even a little.

If you are the kind of family who dreams of taking your kids to Comic-Con one day, or you get a warm glow when your children show an almost obsessive desire to learn every detail of their latest obsession (be it Tolkien, Star Wars, Pokemon, or Potter books).  or you fall anywhere out of the parameters of normal, I applaud you, I appreciate you and I thank you for the kids that you are raising that will add colour to the canvas of our world.

All fathers who take an active interest in their children are amazing and should be celebrated.  Society spends so much time patting the soccer and little league coach on the back, that I thought it was about time someone acknowledged the kid who maybe got shoved in a few lockers that grew up to be an amazing role model and remarkable and inspiring hero to their little people.  That guy, who I strongly believe my husband to be, is raising kids that strive to accept and even embrace the differences in themselves and others.  They get that we don’t all come in cookie cutter varieties and being better at some things and worse at others is just fine.  They are free to Love Star Wars or My Little Pony, even if their friends don’t think its cool.

We come in all shapes and sizes and we bring different stories and experience to the parenting table that is set for us when our first child is born.

I just wanted to take a moment to wish all the Dads a very happy and relaxing Father’s Day.  Especially those who excel at eccentricity.  And for those who haven’t taken a walk on the weird side, I’d say don’t be afraid to give it a try.  You might find you like the freedom being a bit of a freak offers.

Wishing you all the best on your parenting journey, wherever it may take you.

Thanks for reading.

XXOO

Today the world teeters on the brink of a serious international intervention in the wake of chemical weapons incident, killing thousands of innocent civilians in Damascus.

Thousands of Filipinos are taking to the street to protest systemic corruption.

Egypt remains in chaos.

Greece, Italy and Portugal are in economic tatters.  Sub-Saharan Africa remains under nourished and over-represented in infant mortality, poor maternal health and serious sexual and social inequity.

The US still can’t agree on gun control or core social issues internally, and have hundreds of thousands of their hard working middle class citizens tossed out on the street while banking organizations would rather see houses sit empty than organize some way to get the masses of homeless into the masses of empty houses since the sub-prime mortgage disaster.

And guess what is all over my newsfeed and even my Twitter account (despite the fact I try desperately to only follow engaged and enlightened people and entities)?

Miley Cyrus and a Kardashian baby.

Seriously guys.  W.T.F?

I’m the proud owner of a communication undergrad and have had a life long fascination with the human condition and our social and psychological leanings, so I “understand” the intrigue regarding celebrity culture and the spectrum of mild voyeuristic interest through to very dangerous and destructive Celebrity Worship Syndrome.

We look up to these people who we don’t know because they seem to have everything we desire.  They appear to have: money, beauty, fame, credibility, respect and talent.

So we watch from the edge of our seats as their stories unfold and wait with baited breath for them to be involved in some scandal or to fall from grace and society eagerly laps up he aftermath of some morally dubious reporter airing their dirty laundry.

What genuinely confounds me though, is how people find the time to involve themselves in this.

Yesterday, while the MTV awards were airing, I was ensconced in a conversation with my 6-year-old daughter in the back of our people mover as we drove up the North Island on our way back to Auckland from a weekend at the snow.  I was even multi-tasking and managed to nurse a serious argument with my husband and stay abreast of happenings on social media using my smart-phone as we drove the nearly 5 hour journey.  It was pretty awesome.  And I’m still fighting with Grumpy, and also still pondering some of the wisdom gleaned from my daughter.

What confounds me about what is unfolding as I write this little blog – is the nearly total whitewash some trashy child star can have over social and traditional media – and the reason I don’t understand it, is because we have to react and actively show interest for the event to become newsworthy.

Why do so many people perk their ears up and take the time to gawk at this, when there are serious social, political, environmental and economic incidents unfolding in our own back yards and all over the planet?  And we shy away from this stuff.  Is it too hard?  Too painful?  Too confronting?  Are the issues to big and scary for us to want to stay abreast of and show concern for?

So why is it so easy for our society to all get on board with something so petty and pathetic?

I am pleased to report that I still have not seen the performance that stole the scandalous spotlight at this year’s MTV VMAs.

Every year there is something.  My personal favourite was the “Ima let you finish” moment between Kanye West and Taylor Swift.  Two human beings I can safely say I have absolutely no interest in (and to be honest, little or no respect for) whatsoever, but wow, that was some genuinely funny stuff right there.  I admit to still using the line on occasion, even though it has long fizzled out of pop culture favour.

So what I’d like to know is;  how do so many people who I actually hold in high regard spend their precious time on this stuff.  I know beautiful, engaging, intelligent and educated women with families and jobs how can rattle off the names of all of the “Real Housewives” and follow the Kardashian train-wreck with an almost religious ferver.

The time it takes to stay abreast of this stuff could be used to read interesting and confronting articles on world events in the New York Times or Huffington Post.  They are always a good easy read, and generally not too heavy or weighed down in academic jargon. Even I can get through an article in the Post or Times without too much effort.  In the time people dedicate to watching cringe-inducing reality television, people could be nurturing relationships IRL…

Wait.  I think I may have answered my own questions.

While these incidents play out, there are real time conversations and blow-by blow accounts all over twitter and other social media platforms.

People feel connected, they have a laugh at someone else’s expense and get to escape their own daily grind for a while.  We engage in a good healthy dose of shadenfreude while the world around us falls to pieces and our own lives can seem painful, overwhelming or unfulfilling.

So my only question is this:

Can you IMAGINE a world where everyone gets on board and in line and equally engaged in things that actually affect humanity?

That would be pretty fucking amazing.

Have a good week everyone.

Thanks for reading.

XXOO

I’ve been complimented and reprimanded for my impressive ability to avoid goodbyes.

Extensive travel and my exceptionally extroverted nature, has led to meeting a variety of remarkable people in many different locations all over this little blue marble.  I have made friends who I have known for a day or a decade (or longer), and every one of them has changed my path in some way and taught me lessons (both painful and joyful) that I carry with me.

When we stop in and visit our family and friends, and it comes time to carry on, I tend to duck out if it is a large event without ANY goodbyes, or give a rushed or strained: “Okay then, we’re on the road again!  Don’t say the G-word, and we’ll see you again soon.” And then drive away and save my sniffles and sobs until well out of sight and ear shot of our hosts.

I had more than a dozen opportunities to engage in this dance as we snuck out of our friends’ beautiful home in the Hollywood Hills at 3:00am without having to say any painful goodbyes.  We also avoided goodbyes with my Grandfather, our beloved cousins, our friends in NYC, my beautiful girlfriends who I met in Bavaria nearly half a decade ago (and we catch up with annually in Missouri), dozens of new friends from the conference. And new and old friends who share our enthusiasm for Electric Vehicle technology and make the pilgrimage to Cape Girardeau for EVCCON, as well as a handful of new friends who we met at shop counters or reception desks on our travels, and a gorgeous and fascinating couple that I stayed up talking with until 3:00am in St. Louis.  The G-word scarcely passed my lips through all of this.

The first part of this adventure, I was blessed to meet dozens of amazing young leaders from over 60 different countries as we all gathered to discuss the United Nations Millennium Development Goals.

I was nervous, and jet-lagged and completely unaware of what to expect.

The very first person to speak to me in the conference room when I sat down was a very Tall and handsome young man from Burkina Faso.  I’m ashamed to say I’d never heard of Burkina Faso until that moment.  The kind stranger attempted to explain the geography of his nation to me.

Shortly after meeting him I heard some Australian accents (which I was drawn to because of their familiarity) and the conference commenced and the learning and laughter and thoughtfulness abounded for four days.

On the last day I snuck out before the final luncheon to meet my husband at an event he was holding for the Vinyl Collectors Group and only actually said anything close to an official goodbye to my new friends Nehomar, Shari, and Carlos.

I didn’t say goodbye to the gentle giant who was so kind to me in the first moments, and throughout the conference.

Three days ago I got the news that this beautiful, kind, young leader who was bursting with hope and potential had died in an accident and the entire organisation sent an outpouring of condolences and my heart dropped and my stomach turned and a feeling of panic overwhelmed me and has not yet subsided.

I just assumed I had the rest of my life to be friends with him, the way I get to be friends with the hundreds of people I meet every single year.

I hate that I didn’t say goodbye.

On the flights home we met an amazing kindred spirit named Leo, who was the first person in months, perhaps years, that we have spoken to on a flight.  We talked about serious and polarising issues, and had a tendency to agree on all of them.  We invited him and his wife to join us in New Zealand one day as he travels to Melbourne regularly and has not yet jumped the ditch to visit the paradise that we call home.

We didn’t say goodbye to him either, just offered “Good luck making your connection!” wishes and thanked him for being such a enlightened American.

But the next flight was quieter and in the silence my brain kept saying: Burkina Faso, Burkina Faso… and it made me sad.  I will go there one day with my family in honour of the brief and poignant friendship with the gentle giant.  And I will not say goodbye to any of the people who I meet on that journey because, in the immortal words of Peter Pan:

“Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting.”

We landed.  We RAN through customs and security and into the arms of our three beautiful children who we had not seen for over three weeks.

The two older kids came up and my baby girl squealed joyfully and beamed her  contagious joie de vivre that has always been her super-power.  Our eldest son was typically quiet and stoic and a few single tears rolled out of his dark brown eyes, framed with snuffaluffagus-length black eyelashes, holding in them a wisdom, kindness and earnest that humbles me daily.

Our youngest son was so overwhelmed with emotion he couldn’t even look me in the eye, so as I scooped him into my arms I cried tears of joy, relief and gratitude that turned into silent sobs as he grabbed my face with both of his chubby little hands and said staring directly into my eyes:  “I missed you every day!  And I cried at night because I missed you.  And I Love you so much mommy.”  And I promised him we wouldn’t go away for so long again.  And this is a promise I intend to keep.

I talked to my mother on our way home, about how absolutely amazing it all was, and how I know now what I want to do to get my fledgling company up and running, and how I am so excited to be feeling like a grown up and not living in my husband’s shadow.  And we talked about the gentle giant.  And my mother said that I should honour his memory and be pleased to have met him, and that is exactly what I intend to do.  But I think the sad and the shock has to wear off a bit more first.

I got home and went straight to work sorting things out for events and charities.  My TOP priority was calling all around the central plateau to get an electrician to fix the hot water for a family who will be using the Happy Hobbit Love shack in Ohakune for a few days.  They lost their two year old son Eli a few short weeks ago, and are taking some family time at the snow, and I NEED everything to be perfect for them.  Our dear friend Rob was down last week and fixed countless problems with the house and kept me well informed of progress, so I am confident that it will all be fine.

Somewhere between child wrangling, press calls, organising tradespeople, social media updating, unpacking, feeding self and children – I managed to fit in what has become a morning ritual for the past five days and peed on stick, naturally expecting another failed test as we have been observing the Shettles method of conception beyond any reasonable degree for the last 18 months in the hopes of getting another girl Hobbit.

First test: Positive

Second: Positive

Third: Faint positive

Fourth: Less Faint positive

My beautifully pragmatic bestie (and former midwife) has pointed out that at this ridiculously early stage of the game, we might be experiencing a chemical pregnancy as implantation may not have even occurred yet according to the dates involved.

I wish I could say that I was ecstatic about the news, but I was not.

My reaction was panic, and maybe a little bit of disappointment, as I got used to NOT being pregnant and carrying on carving out a personal and professional identity for myself, and I was finally coming to terms with missing out on a fourth and final child but growing a viable business and organising amazing awareness raising events and strategies to further the causes I hold dearest to my Hobbity heart…

I’m over that shock and now getting quite used to the idea of being a working mother of four (or five if it is twins – goodness forbid!)

I will teach this child to travel, to find beauty everywhere, to meet new people, to smile at strangers, to contribute to the world and I will teach them about a little landlocked African country called Burkina Faso, and the gentle giant that their mother met at her first United Nations Conference – the week before they were conceived.

I’ve been overloaded with amazing, awe-inspiring, heartbreaking, jaw-dropping, life-altering and generally extensive amounts of information over the past couple of weeks.

The result of this has been that every time I stop to write a blog – I get overwhelmed and run into confusing tangents within the first couple of paragraphs.  

So no blogs for a while.

In order to simplify, I’m going to walk you through two more-or-less typical hours in a day while we are on the road.

We are in Cape Girardeau Southern Missouri to attend the global EVCCON (Electric Vehicle Conversion CONference) hosted by Jack Rickard and Brian (Brain) Noto.  

There are three top blokes from New Zealand here with us, two of whom were here last year and another who came to the Off The Grid event we held at our solar/battery powered home in Matakana New Zealand.  

I start my two hour journey with you at the moment our three friends were checking into our hotel.

A few very funny and totally inappropriate text messages were exchanged, resulting in a massive and heart felt congratulatory hug for Nick who was the recipient and participant of this witty repartee. 

“Did Grumpy tell you that I laughed so hard at your reply that I nearly broke my face?” said I to Nick.

“No, but I’m glad you liked it, nice to see you guys back this year!” Said he.

Welcome to the Cape hugs were exchanged and the three boys headed to their room to drop off their suitcases.

We nipped back to the room for a few minutes and were phoned from the lobby by our friends as they were heading back to the EVTV headquarters for the welcome piss up and buffet.

So off we went in convoy.

In the car on the short drive to headquarters near the banks of the mighty Mississippi, Grumpy and I heard the song The Way I am by Ingrid Michaelson.  The lyrics hit so close to home that we were forced to steal a sneaky snog and laugh long and loud at how eerily accurate this song fit a couple of freaks like us.

We arrived at the garage.  

A couple of the girls from last year recognised me and asked if I’d had the baby already, as last year we were already planning on child number four and final. We still haven’t been successful due to my overwrought observation of the Shettles Method of conceiving a girl.  They remembered that I’d told them about our formula hitting the mark 3 out of 3 times in the genders of our other children.  We chatted for a while and talked about everything from sex and conception to the mass consumption of oil and food in the US.  It was pretty awesome and I am looking forward to talking more with this top chicks when I get back from St. Louis.

After the chat with the girls I ran into Alice who had lost a whole pile of weight which I mentioned, and she told me about her broken cheek and only moving back down to the Cape three months ago and subsequently putting on 5 pounds!  I can’t imaging how frail she must have looked before her 5 pound gain.  Alice is lovely.

The dinner bell rang shortly after my chat with Alice.

I had to taste test the morsels to ensure they were okay for my non-meat eating soulmate.  Most things were not fit for Grumpy consumption, but there were some lovely jumbo shrimp, stuffed mushrooms and a really nice warm dip.  Yum.

We chatted at our full table, with old friends from last year’s convention and Jack’s stunningly beautiful and elegant wife.  Nick gave me shit for snogging my husband passionately at the traffic lights with a cop behind us saying: “What were you trying to make the cop jealous cause you like dudes in uniform or something?” Said Nick. “No,  we just have a very high daily snogging quota to maintain.” Said I.

It was at this point a little voice told me it was time to head out on an adventure.  I very often listen to that little voice.  It isn’t often clear on details, but I’d hit my quota of small-talk at that point and made my apologies to the table and said I had to head out and I’d be back soon to collect Grumpy.  

“What is the point of having a trophy wife if I can’t show you off?” Quipped Grumpy at me as I stood up to leave.

“I haven’t been much of a prize since before you knocked me up three children ago baby.” I responded.

“You actually are gorgeous you know.” Interjected Jack’s STUNNING wife.

“Oh my word – it takes one to know one – YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!” I enthusiastically responded through an alligator grin.

I got in the car.

I had no idea where I was going or what the plan was.

So I went to the mall.  It is the natural habitat of the Native Canadian or even North American Hominid I have been told.  So that is where I ended up.

I swore off Macy’s some time ago after hearing that they are terribly guilty of encouraging the inhuman atrocities that take place in Bangladeshi sweat shops.  But Macy’s is where I ended up…

I bought the boys each a $10.00, almost certainly bloodstained sweat-shop produced T-shirt.  Batman for Adam and Superman for Daniel.

At the checkout I got to talking with the girl who’d had a very long day.

At the moment of checkout they asked me if I had a Macy’s card.

“No, you won’t let me get one as I am not a resident.” Said I.

“Oh, you sound like you’re American, where are you from? Canada?” Asked the sweet midwestern checkout lady.

“Kind of.  I was born in Canada but I’ve lived in NZ for 20 years.”  I explained in auto-pilot as this was surely at least the 20th time I’d had to explain this just today.

“Oh my goodness.” She gasped while her younger, taller colleague rang up my purchase.  “What are you doing here if you don’t mind me asking?”

Deep breath in, big smile turned on, and straight into the dialogue I’ve rattled off at least 100 times since landing here in the USA on the 21st of July.

“Well, I belong to an NGO called JCI or Junior Chamber International.  It is similar to Rotary or Lions, but for people under 40.  There was a JCI and United Nations summit in NYC regarding the Millennium Development Goals that will be re-investigated in 2015.” Rolled off my tongue for the umpteenth time.

“Oh, my… So what do you actually do?  If you don’t mind me asking, I don’t mean to be rude.” She said wide-eyed and obviously impressed.

“Philanthropy.  I’ve been doing various local and international charity bits and bobs for the past 7 or 8 years.” I said while smiling and looking directly into her heavily made-up blue eyes.

There was a very long and ongoing dialogue that lasted at least ten minutes from this point.

I found out that she’d lost a close family member recently to medulloblastomas.  I said that sounded familiar, she told me that it was a deadly brain tumour and now a very dear friend of hers was about to lose her grandson to the brain disease, and he was only 18.  Tears welled up in her eyes.  We talked about how it isn’t always known what the cause is, and it may not be genetic and it may be environmental causes that contribute, but that there was an eerily high incidence of the disease here in the Cape.  

The reason this conversation was so poignant is that one of the strongest, smartest, most accepting and beautiful women in my life – is about to lose her son to a similar, if not the same tragedy.  A deeply private and remarkable family, with an amazing support network – they are dealing with this unfathomable inevitability by enjoying every moment they have, and cherishing all the many moments of joy this child experiences and shares with them in the time he has left.

We talked about God, we talked about how much was wrong with the world and how much was right with it.  We talked about the amazing pink ribbon campaigns in the Cape to raise money for cancer research.  

She told me that I must have a very hard job trying to decide what causes to support.  I told her that I used to try and do everything, but casting my net wide meant I didn’t make much difference and just disappointed myself and others by taking too much on and not having the impact I could by dealing with just one or two really important causes.  I told her that the environment, and the food we eat and the air we breath and the water we drink and the eco-system we share is the cause which I am most passionate about, because we are all a piece of it and without healthy food, air and water – we are screwed.

I told her I couldn’t fathom what people who are about to lose someone must feel like, but the people who are about to die must want them to be okay and not grieve and fret but celebrate the time and the memories they have.  I also said that in a strange way we are all kind of lucky to have the time to grieve for our loved ones, as there are places where people don’t have that luxury because they are dealing with death as a daily part of their lives, through war, starvation or losing their loved ones to treatable disease.  And there’s probably a lesson in all the grief and tragedy.  We just have to look hard to try and find it.  

And I excused myself explaining that if I stayed around much longer we’d all be crying.

We smiled warm, sincere smiles of strangers who connected in a deep and meaningful way, and I walked out of Macy’s and wondered what else the day would have in store since listening to the voice that sent me walkabout. 

It wasn’t long until my question was answered.

A homeless man was struggling across the vast parking lot with several ripped bags.

I didn’t think much of it and checked my facebook in the parked rental car for five or ten minutes.

After mentally congratulating myself on the likes and comments solicited from friends who saw a picture of Happy Hobbits on the Banks of the Mighty Mississippi, I started the car.  I drove around and past the struggling homeless man.

Fuck.

I can’t just let him struggle alone like that.

I’d be a total hypocrite if I did.

So I stopped.  I thought for a moment what might be an appropriate intervention on this occasion.  And I decided I’d ask him if he needed help or if I could buy him some dinner or a cup of coffee.

I turned around and drove up near him.

He cowered at the car, and I rolled down my window and said with the beaming Dee grin you’re all terribly familiar with: “Good evening sir, can I help you or give you a ride?” I said.

“Oh, I thought you were going to burn me…” He said, unravelling himself from the defensive pose he’d taken.

“No, I just wanted to know if I could help you out.” I said.

“I’m trying to get to the laundromat.” He said.  And I noticed the urine stains on his trousers and his calloused and knobbly hands.  

“Hop in, and I’ll take you.” I said apprehensively.  But I wasn’t about to deny him help now that I’d offered it.

He put his four heavy black bags in the back of the car behind the passenger seat and slid in next to me.

“I’m sorry, I smell pretty bad.” He said.  And he was absolutely right.  He smelled like urine and booze.

“We all smell bad from time to time.” I said.

And we ventured on a 30 minute journey to find a laundromat.

My passenger, who’s name was Melvin, told me about his travels to France and Italy.  I asked him if he had any family and he said he couldn’t recall, but he did once.  I asked him why he was scared of me when I pulled up and he told me about some teenagers who attacked him and burnt him with a laser in his face and his eye which he could no longer see out of.  

“Melvin, I am so fucking sorry to hear that.  You don’t deserve that and those kids were sheer evil.” in my most comforting tone.  

The first laundromat we found using the GPS was closing as we pulled up at 7:45.  So I took him to the Showme Laundromat which was on the way back to Jack’s garage where I was going to pick up Grumpy.

I have to admit, I was exceptionally relieved when one of the doors to the laundromat was open so Melvin was able to take his heavy burden of clothes to be washed.  I had no idea what I would do with him if that one was closed too.

I gave Melvin $20.00 and a handshake.  I’d have liked to have given him a hug, but the smell was far too overwhelming.

And I drove off in my plush rented car to pick up my sweet smelling genius husband from his convention.

We had some awesome times on the way home when we stopped at Walgreens to stock up on some bits and pieces and made a quirky new friend with piercings and cool stories about being a freak and barking at people who stared at her as though she was a weirdo.  I liked her.  So much so we became Facebook friends tonight.  Looking forward to getting to know her better online.  I’ll bet she’s got some great stories.

But that is where I’ll end this spectacularly long story for tonight.

Thank you so much for tuning in.  

Much Love.

Dee.

XXOO