barbtries a blog
Thursday, October 31, 2002
Bekah at her 8th grade graduation
Bekah lets me print all the pictures of her i want. :)
Happy Halloween pranksters spanksters and just pretend gangsters. Peace, love, happiness, happiness....
You LIve Your Life As If It's Real
READ IT. Laugh. then think. ya. live your life as if it is real.
Ray Sweatman writes so well! man i am glad i found his blog.
Wednesday, October 30, 2002
Time For Your Meds!
there is almost a zeitgeist about this emotional/mental unrest.
do you think it stems from the powers that be? and all the craziness
emanating from that quarter? i yelled at my dear, sweet, such-loved
daughter-in-law today...no, not AT her, because she was not the
object of my rage, but she was the one listening.
i went to counseling; i recommend it heartily. i discussed the
reality of the second year of bereavement being worse than the
first. because how low i feel at times, no i could not begin to
express. i cried because i might lose another child before i die,
and was assured that this is a normal reaction to grief, that
immediately upon such a tragic abrupt loss the survivors
begin to prepare for the next one. but i fought back as i always do, saying, "it's BOGUS!"
it is not something one can prepare for. so our minds prepare,
just as my mind did before bekah died, as if it was actually
accomplishing something when in reality, i might as well sit
down here and worry and regret for the rest of my natural life.
because that "preparation" is bogus when the reality cannot be
there is no way
i may not have a job yet, but i do not feel as alone as i did a
few hours ago. hope comes back.
but i still don't have a job. writer for hire. writer for hire.
will work for ISP. lol
i would like to make a change in my world before i die. save
one child - one mother.
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
oh, i can relate. i have to get a job. i sit here. i am going to review records at the attorney's office. i sit here. i need to get all the shit together to send to my friend, and i sit here.
paralysis. "flooding," that's what my counselor says. i'm flooding and it makes life very difficult. daily life, the little things. because [for me] the big things are swamping my mind and my helplessness angers and frustrates me to tears.
i have to learn to shrug it off and get up. right now i will get up. but first, i will say, i dreamt about my son last night. he wasn't in the dream, his father was. his father was telling me andy was dead. i remembered the dream while reading two stories in the daily breeze, both about young, murdered children in wilmington, CA, a city where until recently andy was known to walk around at 3 am and so on.
happily his friend moved into a better area. because i doubt there is a thing i can do or say that will make andy stop walking around at any hour of the day or night. that kid is too much like his mother....
Thursday, October 24, 2002
Surfing lawsuit request denied
INDICATOR. that's the spot where my son had his trouble 10 years ago. at the time he told me of a man whose head had been split open with a rock [by the locals], about tires slashed on a regular basis [by the locals], and about how he was ganged up on by the locals and harassed out of the water as he was trying to surf.
what i would like to see is one of these locals defending their apparent belief that because their house is in the area that gives them some title to the waves.
the waves are there for everyone.
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
Doctor gets prison in sex case
OKAY, justice rides again.
Better you should KILL a person. You'll get less time. You won't have to plead guilty to your crime or face your victims as they attempt to make you know the cost of your crime.
i do not get it. But for the umpteenth time, my daughter was NOT chopped liver.
go figure. i cannot.
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
here's proof that of bekah and me, she was the artist:
i don't think i've gone out on this particular limb in public yet. and actually i think i'll do it on another day. enjoy my daughter's talent, lament her early demise.
Pechanga Resort and Casino
"Motor City Memories," the show playing this weekend in Temecula, includes a good friend of mine. He has told me that if i show up about 15 minutes before showtime, i can get in free, but i don't know who to go with.
isn't that pathetic? i just can't think of anyone to go with...except my one friend, who flakes. and is tired. and so i dunno. i could go alone, i guess.
wouldn't be the first time i went somewhere alone, screw it. i'll worry it then; friday is andy's 19th birthday and he has requested filet mignon.
do you think everyone else would notice if they got hot dogs? lol
3-18-07 changed to andy's 1st birthdat...andy and bekah on her 12th birthday...notice the bassinet in the living room. i WAS the old woman who lived in a shoe...and they were some of the most serene and happy days of my life
Monday, October 21, 2002
My Own Private Godzilla
i'm afraid this one did not translate as well as i wish it did but anyhow it's my new favorite. for the moment.
I have four of these boards, the other three being montages [sp?] of pictures. One by one i'm taking off the pictures, scanning them, and putting them into the album my friend gave me...the owners of many of the pictures will probably be back for them by and by. or not. at any rate. i have gone through this board, her autograph board, and copied every word on it.
because these pieces of flotsam, or is it jetsam, cannot stay here forever. my home cannot continue looking as if i just buried my daughter yesterday for the rest of our lives. eventually i have to do the dishes, too. so i have copied every word off her autograph board, but i have not thrown it out just yet. one step at a time.
i haven't much on my mind. my back has been hurting, i have been painting bunches of nothing, and i need a job. etcetera. at least i'm doing laundry tonight, that should be worth at least a point and a half. right? :)
Saturday, October 19, 2002
I picked my grandsons up from their other grandma's house this afternoon before going to the cemetery. The kids had been to a halloween carnival and were sporting tattoos, and their "gigi" asked to see mine...
the picture is not good but it is about as good as i am able. Her big brother devoted his entire right forearm to the memorialization of his sister, having a turtle with angel wings captioned on the top, "Rebekah," and on the bottom, "An angel in heaven."
So we went to the cemetery and thanks again to their "gigi" i have finally got her headstone looking almost good. The product that apparently will facilitate the removal of waterspots is called "Zap!" as i recall [it's in my car so i can't say for certain].
We stayed for awhile, Tyler asleep in his car seat the entire time. When we left i did not head straight out the gate, but took a short driving tour of a fairly large cemetery. Micah and i spotted a squirrel. as we were turning to leave for home, a few notes of a special song drifted from the radio, and i turned it up to hear, "Ooh Child," which could make me cry before bekah died and which i played at her birthday memorial July 6, 2002.
I sang along and cried...uncharacteristically, the song was broken up by static consistently throughout. i thought i wonder if bekah is trying to tell me she's here? Paul told me about how his radio had suddenly gotten static-y during a special song. Adding to my feeling that i was hearing from Bekah, when I got into the car earlier "wherever you will go" was already playing. Since the first time i heard that song it's been bekah.
"Ooh Child" ended and another song began. The static went away. bingo. i began phrasing this here blog post in my mind: "i got a new adddition to the Bekah Church of Wonder Catalogue of Post-Mortem Unexplained Phenomena and Amazing Small World Stories today...."
i thought about faith, and skepticism. thought that of the people who would read about bekah playing songs for me on the radio and interfering with the reception, some would probably laugh at me, some might feel sorry for me ["poor mother she is grasping at straws"], and some might just shrug thinking, whatever. defending my belief for the skeptics in my mind all i could think is, I take it where i find it...i am only thankful for my open mind, that lets me find it in places that would be ignored by others. then van morrison began singing in my head:
"Take it where you find it
Can't leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it "
The Van Morrison Website
Justice for Woody
"The children in the congregation were taken from the room, to which Woodward expressed no objection. A number of people left individually, and he did not react. However, when a member of the congregation (perhaps the minister, Deborah Mero, according to at least one witness) stood up and asked the congregation to move into the smaller chapel, Woodward produced a knife with a three and a quarter inch blade from his pocket, held it to his eye. He threatened to kill himself if he was left without witnesses. Though still highly agitated, he was specific in his explanation that his need was for witnesses to his statement and to events that might soon transpire. He abjectly begged the congregation to stay and help him. "
i keep coming back and back to this man's story. i can't be the only person alive who suspects that Woody's death was ordained long before the police rushed in and shot this man in a church where he was seeking sanctuary?
something is very, very rotten in vermont. read and comment por favor...:)
Friday, October 18, 2002
"He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend.
Eternity mourns that. ’T is an ill cure
For life’s worst ills, to have no time to feel them.
Where sorrow’s held intrusive and turned out,
There wisdom will not enter, nor true power,
Nor aught that dignifies humanity."
- Sir Henry Taylor
An Amateur Mourning Map for Mothers of the Recently Murdered
This poem attempts to live up to its title and says, "mourning begins at Shock Summit...."
Since writing the poem [as of today i intend for my book to carry the same title], i have thought more on that subject, and after making a painting [see 08-08-02] that set me on this train of thought, i have imagined some of the information that might be provided to the newly bereaved upon their thrust to "Shock Summit":
STOP. You are here: SHOCK SUMMIT, Universal Gateway to the Hills of Horror, One-Way road to the grief of sudden bereavement at the hands of a human,
Entrance to hell.
Proceed to the mortuary. Mothers please stop at the trough of tormented thought for a map and a handbook.
For ALL visitors to Shock Summit:
This is the first stop of a journey you did not expect and could not prepare for. A loved one has been killed. Mourning is ahead of you and is a journey of pain, tears, and soul-searching.
The bereaved mothers among you will find your voyage more treacherous than any other you have ever or will ever embark on, as it includes many months of mourning in hell. Mothers of Murder Victims will return to life only after successfully traversing the infamous Desert of Despair.
Many others of you will endure a shorter less intense stay in hell. For most, that will not last much beyond the loved one's funeral, though it will leave an impression possibly deep enough to change your life.
As you move toward and from the mortuary you will find both before and after the funeral, "early exits" or "avoidances" from/of your grief. It has been revealed that bereaved people occasionally are either unwilling or [they maintain] unable to grieve sufficiently to re-enter life with enthusiasm they experienced before tragedy impacted it.
These early exits are Denial and/or Bitterness. It is stressed that only Mourning offers an opening to life. Denial and Bitterness are simply emotional cul-de-sacs, and if you do choose either road, your trip back to life will take more time.
It is repeated: Grief is assuaged via Mourning. No other route can or will provide the bereaved the emotional completion and spiritual reconciliation that mourning your tragedy will.
Thursday, October 17, 2002
Billy Joel - Uptown Girl
Bekah had a toy for the bath, and we sang, "Tubtown Girl" she's my tubtown girl....lol
that's the poem this pic reminds me of somehow. mature content if you choose to read....:)
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
Bush Family Values Photo Album
This information is new to me, or much of it. i guess i did not consider the first bush president to be as threatening as this stupid son of his.
but the power. the corruption. and our way of life. it's good to know things.
Bales Law: If your car is overheating you will hit every light you come to red. Red, red, red, as in hot.
Auto shops call lawsuits a scare tactic
if you ever wondered why lawyers are so often regarded as low-life assholes, check this out....
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
Sunday, October 13, 2002
The Dead Letter Office
this is a trippy site - you're invited to write a letter from death...i go there sometimes to browse and read one that i thought was funny enough to share:
it's all lawyers and used car salesmen down here
Thursday, October 10, 2002
Bad check sends RB man to prison
Yet this man gets more time than the woman who killed my daughter.
Rebekah-Marie Bales Zask was NEVER chopped liver and she is not chopped liver now.
Why do I fume? Am I alone in bemoaning this blatant travesty of justice?
This defendant previously spent 41 months [almost twice as long as rambo will spend] for smog fraud. Smog fraud!
Something is not adding up. Does this man have dark skin? Is he poor? How can a person get away with murder? it wasn't like the evidence wasn't there. I am baffled, baffled and heartbroke.
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
You LIve Your Life As If It's Real
good poetry, real people...and he likes my pictures. :)
check out Ray - he can write
okay. i have my second interview scheduled, for thursday at 3:30...i have to call 310-792-7331 to confirm.
blogs are better than post-its, did you know that? :) tee hee
Monday, October 07, 2002
for whatever reason this is one of my personal favorites, of all the paintings i've done so far.
got some comments! gee that's a nice validation; someone somewhere, reads, appreciates. of course i read and appreciate substantially more than i comment on, and i assume that is true of many.
there's stuff i want to write about. Grief, and the cost of grief. It is time to get back to work. Becoming a cat lady. I blame bekah's killer. She disabled me. i am still pissed off at her, actively pissed. PISSED OFF
me, at bekah's shrine one or two days after she was murdered in front of that tree...her shoes were close to the tree, her blood about a 100 yards down the road, in the median....
SO I'm formulating some kind of thesis in my little pea brain: something about the difference between the victim and the victim mentality. i was not allowed to choose whether i would be a victim. [did bekah choose to be murdered? i think not] But i have decided not to embody the victim mentality. No one but another victim can appreciate how fucking hard it is to stave off the bitterness. Does anyone else spend inordinate amounts of time fantasizing testifying to the face of the so-called person who murdered her daughter, driving it home, home, home, making her know...
giving her a clue. of just how costly that worst of crimes is.
i assume this propensity to purple i've been experiencing lately is related to the anger. anyhow!
i have decided that i will foster the mentality of a winner, a success, a human complete in spite of her death blows. it is just so fucking hard. next thing you know, i'm looking around, i'm looking up at the wall, and it has been more than a year since the last time i hugged my girl or heard her laugh. how can that be?
then shake my head, shake my heart, wipe away the tears, and swear, she cannot have me. not me, or john, andy, rory, denise, micah, tyler. no she cannot goddamit. goddam her.
Friday, October 04, 2002
Thursday, October 03, 2002
John and Denise with her jackpot-winning, one-in-a-lifetime white sea bass
My son took us - Andy, Micah, Rory, and me - out on his boat (boat: Bust Out Another Thousand) Sunday. i don't know how a person can stay sad or maintain a depression while near or upon that magnificent body of water. He opened up the engine and we sped along the peninsula. I watched rainbows come and go in the spray. The boat did not break down this time, but i still never caught a fish.
i sat up next to john and mentioned that i was thankful that none of us get seasick. then i mused for awhile, about how Rory didn't really seem to get into going out on the boat or fishing...he was sleeping in the cabin at the time. The last time we'd been on the boat he was just as unenthusiastic. So i was thinking i'd say to him, "you know rory if you don't like being on the boat and fishing it is okay. Not all pastimes are for everyone. there are lots of people who see fishing as nothing but a boring waste of time. There are people who actually enjoy watching GOLF on tv. so, don't sweat it if you don't like it, you can stay behind next time or at home..."
about an hour later, while i was napping in the cabin, rory yakked "like christmas" over the side of the boat. turns out he would love to enjoy fishing and boating...he gets seasick. DUH. get a clue mom...Andy told me he heard me say to John how thankful i was that none of us got seasick and thought, wha-?
question: does dramamine work?
What are the 2 happiest days in a boat owner's life? The day he buys it and the days he sells it.
John bought the boat what? three months ago, or less? And what a deal; the boat had actually been owned at one time by a friend of his, who swore it never gave him a minute's trouble. In the three months, or less, that John and Denise have had the boat it has racked up mechanic's bills of $700 and $1300. The last time [before sunday] I was on the boat it took a crap and we put-putted back into the harbor on his dinghy motor [happily he had it and it worked!] Then last month, he and Denise saw a weekend in Catalina turn into a 5-day stay, after which they had to say good-bye to the boat and take the Catalina Express home.
So i repeat: What are the 2 happiest days in a boat owner's life? The day he buys it and the days he sells it.
hehe - does dramamine work?
Wednesday, October 02, 2002
i don't know if this painting is even finished, but here's the poem [written within 2 months of bekah's death] that i recall every time i look at it:
today’s paean to why
There's like a why ocean,
from which waves of why
either tease or soak
my grief-addled mind.
During why's high tide,
nearly drowned in why,
The world abounds with why
All I hear is the sound of why
If it tells me it will have to kill me
When why recedes it is still a mystery
Still cannot know it
while I must respect its immense power over me
Riptides of why swamp me regularly
when I'm rolled crazily around in why,
Powerless to dive away from why
Useless to try dominating why.
On the island why I stop to see
How perseverance can still abide in me
On the mainland why I walk the beach
Hope defying why, the why of life
Is easy to see
By my side or inside of me,
Your spirit your love accompanies
With the energy of a wave
that embodies a natural eternity.
Who am i, what am i
A picture's worth
I stand on the sand, and I'm rocking grief to sleep in my arms.
Comments by: YACCS