Kay Buena's Blog

       There are at least 3 things for women to worry about as they age…especially those over 50.  (1) : don’t think your  old-make-up from yesterdays maze of happenings will pass as ”slightly and modestly applied”,  sort’ of  like: you purposefully seem a tad  rumpled–No!  You must face the mirror  even if you are an old ballet dancer unable to stike a 1st position Ballet pose, the time is Now…Too bad about the truth that you will never ever become a Ballerina:You are crippled-up, 1 artificial hip, 1 artificialpelvis and hip joint–and they are metal.  Every time I think I can take off with a grand jete`, or several across the living room floor…Dream on, says I to myself;  however as you are merely an experienced bohemian suffering the effects of a rather raucous night –as in ” I meant to look like this.    ”  —-:blaze”      Don’t be falling into that trap.that hole is so deep, it is practically Alcatraz.
     (2.)Wash up from time to time, and tend to your face,  it needs to be repainted so as to not scare small children.   It may be old,that face, but you’ve got to take the bad with the good .  Why don’t you take a bath,  or  brush your teeth, even if you don’t have time;  It  matters, both personally and socially and finally,:(3):  notice what you thought to be a massive cricket colony, is probably tintinnitis. Call off the exterminator.

   We were involved in our usual drama of  a personal nature, when out of that where in no-where  re-enters my strangely intriguing  main character once again, Ms. Betty Jane Abbitt.  So she’s a doll.  Get over it.  So I’m over 60.  Get over that too.  This sort of silliness  is most relevant in these tough times when entertainment and communication tends to come from a “Box”, rather than a raw imagination, –a given instead of a mind-created tale of wonder and invention, or a friendly visit from people we love, like or even simply tolerate.  Wouldn’t want to set a precedent or anything.   Like” nothing personal”–that we can not have!  It would mean that the cyberworld might have some virtues, besides  the obvious pleasure of hearing our own voice ringing in our ears.But, who knows?  It could happen.  Well, actually it did happen here, but I am in digression as usual.  

      I am hoping that my husband is not too  far into Cyberspace and it’s pain, to help me get some rather dubious photos  of  “Betty Jane”, such as her “Before”pic, and her mug -shot as well, to say nothing of her “New Look,”   with extra- stupid- fashionista-like images of Betty Jane and her post-operative surgeries.   (by the by, I know this is idiotic;  sometimes that is a needed thing.  )

     When last we saw what was left of Betty Jane, her  infamous “Monday Panties,”  it seemed unlikely that Betty Jane could ever be herself again.  There is still some doubt on her behalf  in this question.   But, it is her life and she has to be the one to make up her own stupid stories, not me.

     While Charles (my husband) is going on “his walk”  (as if)  I shall write of one of her most valiant encounters with the forces of evil, when she got her eyelashes (of her right eye) blown off in an explosion, brilliantly produced by my brother, who will remain nameless, as he too wants no part of this endeavour.

     As I might have indicated in some of these writings, my childhood was spent as a “military brat.”  It was not unusual for my brother and I to watch the lousy newbies target practicing  with “nike” missiles.  So to us, a gasoline splat,  lit with a match, and some decent running , was less than no big deal … it was not even worth getting worked up about … and it’s effect was to be compared to what happens to a dirty kid when he (or she) is forced to take a bath. Back to square one.  No problem.   We were living close to Wright Patterson AFB, in Ohio in a new  house in a brand new housing development, back in the early 1950’s.  The row of houses were built and occupied, but few residences had landscaping — that was your own problem, but no problem to us, my brother and I.  We began to formulate a story involving Betty Jane and “Foxie” (the main man) and the rest of our stuffed animals.  As any good “action movie” has numerous close calls, we had developed ours, before the plot… So 1st. things  first:   We got some of the more active characters of our toys  involved in a really good chase through what was to be a completely benign  gauntlet for our gang (so to speak) to weave a trail from one side of the yard to the other.  My brother was older and more experienced in things like Charcoal Broiling outdoors, or putting  the gasoline in a lawn mower or a boat, than I was, having no experience at all in those culturally complex male-dominated actions … by a long shot (no pun intended.)     OK.  The short story — long: We  (“he did it'” …  not me…”)  splattered small amounts of  gas  here and there, and then proceeded to carry  our buddies through the perilous  terrain, while lighting and tossing matches in our wake.  Needless to say, this was a less than brilliant way to spend a quiet afternoon, however we survived that, with no casualties (other than the horror of the neighbors’ version of said event.  Betty Jane’s eyelashes  (of her right eye…) did not.  She stayed that way until I was so bored as to do something about it 58 years later, even though the space- time continuum remained relative to normal for a couple of deviant pre-schoolers- who grew into adults and then fairly cool geezers.    

     As you can imagine, I am sure, my mother was less than pleased with the resulted small “fox holes” we blew out of that bare dirt.  I am sure that my father was not overly concerned, as he was somewhere in the skies over  Barbados at the time.  However, we made a start in the landscaping plan, which is always good to do.    

      The very bold and brave “Betty Jane” didn’t even cry when that happened.

    Oh, well, back to the present

     Just as I was going to brag about how pretty “Betty Jane” looks,  now that her wig  is all new and nice, her “make-up” updated, and her new eyelashes make that crazy serious stare go away… She’s all better and those long missingeyelashes on where she lost them in that long ago explosion, were also replaced  adding to her whole new look.  Now, instead of a serious detective and companion, she simply looks like an old “tart”, or a woman of ill repute..  I was trying to tone it  down, only now I  think I waited too  long to please her.  I was, just sort of telling you of how I might have really acted in my usual “make-believe”, silly story manner (an act not with out  it’s own problem’s, here in this’ happy orderly’, ranch of  the rude, residence of  the Ageing Asperger’s Anonymous (that would be me,  and the whole crowd (betty Jane included) though all these things are true and good to talk about;  “Betty Jane”, it seems, done left the building.

      I have searched high and low for her.  But she’s gone, solid gone.  And when, I say I did the total inspection of all of our houses “areas, in which a 12” tall doll could  “hide” or be hidden; I mean just that.  All have been noticed and I am not pleased with my findings, however there could be some tye-in with  the local happenings out side my juresdiction, such as  there always are.  My complete shock about what was a really a bee’s nest of worries, plus the lost of my old role model Betty Jane, topped off  by the Global news, Wall Street’s inability to get back to a mid-line “irrational exuberance ” as it should be to better reflecting business, ‘stead of rumour,  All these things put together are  literally—too much.  Must have been that way for Betty Jane too, and with the additional ‘old tart’ attack on her person, it must have been the last straw. 

Dear reader, Don’t think of me as being nuts enough to really live an existence in which the doll 
was really speaking to me or anything resembleing 2 sick minds at work…but she was not furniture. She was a doll of a different sort.    All of her antics where allot more exciting than the  average life-term of a doll’s reach…

     What?  Someone mentioned her being with the Government Bureaucracy,  the Witness Protecton Agency where they took her under another name to Williamsburg, Virginia for a fresh start,  or a clean leave–  this could be an indication of her willing need for a change.   I could see how this would be a good thing,  until she can prove she can focus and take action on her own, like the ‘old days’ with me, as someone else’s doll ( and work her way into someone else’s web-blog).  But how ever you look at the facts, she is not  here in my house staring this screen down, or taunting the cats, as she should be.   I searched through absolutely every thing we’ve got.  I did a really thourogh examination of all our house’s storage area’s  (except-in the computer area’s, –hmmm…………..)

  …perhap’s I better check out this one little situation over here; OH< NO>OH

It’s Betty Jane’s  Monday Underpanties. Check this out ,youse, it’s all that’s left.

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