Little Concrete Pig

It’s mine, all mine. Not that my siblings would want it. Well, maybe. I don’t care, it’s mine.

Probably one of the only positive memories I have of my grandma is that of the numerous flowerbeds around her old home. Looking back I think it’s safe to say they were her one true pride and joy. Full of all manner of flowers, all I can really recall after all these years are the roses. There were also several birdbaths, that I recall being full of water and birds. There was an apple tree right up against her house, but there was a plum tree among the garden beds as well. I remember eating my fill of fresh fruit on a regular basis during the summers.

And then there were the little concrete pigs. All whole family of them, the mother pig and her three little piglets. I think time has fairly well destroyed all but one of the piglets, and I’ve got it. I’ve given it a rough recoating of black paint, and I’m hoping to finish it off soon. Then I’m going to try and remember how the white played on it.

My grandma is still alive and kicking, and somehow she continues to become even more of a crotchedy old racist biddy as time marches on. But at least I will always have a few good memories. And a concrete pig.


I Need New Friends

Okay, that’s a bit mean sounding, isn’t it? It’s not that my current friends are bad, it’s just that they aren’t where I’m at. I could easily hang out with some of the guys more, but no. I need new friends.

I don’t know how to do this either. I’m just now hitting this realization. I can’t really relate to any of them, that much. And the ones I’d be interested in trying to further develop a friendship were always more acquaintances really. And the only common ground now would be having kids. I’m kind of pointedly trying to find some link outside of that. I love my kids, but I’m not my kids. There’s more than that.

I imagine I’m terribly picky, or nit-picky. I’m also probably hard to put up with, how the missus has done for almost 20 years is beyond me. I’m also having to come to grips with the reality that there really isn’t much to me beyond my kids. I like gaming, but that’s tricky enough as is, what with the kids. Plus most of the gaming crowd doesn’t have kids, so they are free to game whenever, where ever. Okay, there’s one of the friends who seems content to do this as well, but he’s self-absorbed. I’m not. I’ve at least got that going for me.

I’ve tried getting some writing groups going, largely at the behest of the missus. But those almost immediately fall through, again because of the missus and her inability to follow through on even three pages of writing. Unless she just doesn’t want to write with me, which admittedly is a valid option but it also smacks of late teen angsting over one’s love and devotion. Fuck that, no. I know she’s just more than a touchy flighty and that it isn’t personal.

I’m sort of at an impasse. I don’t really know where to go from there. Here. Where ever. I do know I need to move on though. I need to do something, find something, find someone outside of all of it and reconnect, but it honestly just looks like at present that’s impossible.

In other news I had kidney stone last week. I think I’d rather just up and die than go through that again. I’m still sore and achy from it. We have the big family trip coming up also, Disney World here we come!