Adventures Aplenty

Here I am again. Been gone a bit. I had surgery on my left hand for carpal tunnel and will have the right hand done on the 30th of the month.


What did I learn from the first surgery? Coming out from  under anesthesia with a raging case of restless legs is not fun. None at all. I thought I was going to lose it right there in front of the nurse and a heavily sedated male mumbling in the bed to my right. WHAT!? Did I just say the guy was mumbling in the bed next to me? No curtain? I just realized I was lying nearly within reach of a man when I came out of the haze and felt my legs doing the nerve dance from hell. DANG!! Is that copasetic? I don't think so. I need to ask that question.


Well, he had no idea I was in the world because whatever they gave him was the GOOD stuff. He was talking and all that but he was not "home". Really?? I  cannot get past the fact that I was in the bed, waking up from surgery and a man was in a bed in full view (not that kind) and he was on my right. I think I was trying to talk to him. That is embarrassing. I have caught myself off-guard!


Another lesson...it takes more than three days for me to recover from the surgery experience. I heal slowly. I know that but I pay no heed. I'm going to do differently for the next surgery. That is my plan anyway.


I have amazing friends. They treat me with love and a modicum of respect! Heavy on the love and a lifted eyebrow on the respect! No! I tell a lie. They respect me. My girlfriends are my family. I am blessed.


In true ADHD fashion, I had a flash thought of the beautiful white cat in our neighborhood who is feral. I, the infamous cat rescuer, want to help this beautiful creature. Snow white from stem to stern. My cat charming skills need to involve food. Do I want to go down this path again? Car kitty has a wonderful home now. He is a genius level cat who makes his home in any situation. No, he claims his home. No fear. No hesitation! Unique personality. It will be a long time before I meet the likes of him again. But this white cat is a cat of a different matter. I have decided. I will charm this cat and, one day, find it a good home. I will keep my progress here.
I will not, as I did on another occasion, grab this cat and try to bend it to my will. That moment in the past was a case of mistaken identity. I thought it was my cat. I was wrong. I was winning the struggle but was defeated when I finally understood what my husband was trying to tell me. "That's NOT our cat!" What? Not our cat? You have heard of catch and release. I released seconds ahead of getting myself flayed open by a surprised, confused and pissed off feral cat!


That last part is a metaphor for my life. Mistaken identity. Holding on despite the obvious. Letting go just ahead of all hell breaking loose!


As if I need to borrow chaos, right?

Wee Hours of Friday Morning

Gratitude is a Thing of Beauty

I am grateful for the little fan that keeps me cool as I work from home.
I am grateful for the electricity that powers all of the amazing stuff that lights up the room, heats or cools the room, powers the laptop, heats the stove and cools the refrigerator. Electricity rocks.
I am grateful for water, hot and cold, running, thirst-quenching, life giving water.
I am grateful for the freedom to worship Jesus Christ with people who love me and who demonstrate the love of Christ in their lives.
I am grateful that I can sense another person's pain and, if God ordains, draw close to that person and share their pain and love them in their pain.
I am grateful that other people have shared my pain and loved me. They are the "way showers" in my life.
I am grateful for a pen with ink in it and a printer full of paper and a chair that sits well.
I am grateful for these and so many more things...so many more that I do not know when I would finish the telling.

The world is in turmoil. Each day I am confronted and challenged by the intensity of suffering that exists in our own small town.

I am grateful for the peace that passes all understanding.
I am grateful that His grace is sufficient.
I am grateful to have been set free. Once I was blind but now I see.

Time for bed. I am grateful I have a bed and a roof over my head!

My Sorrow With A Smile

Those of you who know my life well will get this choice of song!

It is dedicated to "the man at the end of the trailer"

Whom I Love!

Like Gangbusters

YIKES! I am becoming a part of the consumerism I so heartily denounce. HSN is ruining my personal vision of myself and I am letting them so they will pay me. Where did the old me go and so quickly, at that!? One minute I am arrogantly proud of my lack of consumerism and the next I am squarely in the midst of it. Order after order after order. I get a picture of that scene from I Love Lucy when Lucy and Ethel are working on the assembly line at the candy factory. I will post it tomorrow. If you are a friend of mine and you can hold that thought until tomorrow then more power to you.


Oh but my duplicity does not end with HSN. I cannot even fish because I cannot bear to kill the fish and I cannot be near a cooler on the pier if the fish are thrashing around in their death throes. But I can eat fish and beef and chicken and pork. I just can't kill it. What does this say about me? Lawd a'mercy! My hypocrisy knows no bounds!


But it started years ago when I went to work on the military base and found myself counting, packaging and eventually ordering parts that were being made for implements of destruction. It took awhile for me to get the awareness that I was working for a part of the war machine and, oh me, as time went by I became an avid hawk. Dare I say it? All those years of hearing story after story of heroism, understanding how those beautiful war helicopters and aircraft performed and watching young men go off to foreign countries and them depending on us to do our jobs well. Our jobs saved lives. Our jobs took lives.


So what does that make me....A consumerism freak with a penchant for flesh and war mongering!! I am an AMERICAN! Hurray for the red, white and blue!


Oh well, I secretly love film noir and I do not kill any pest that stays out of my house or is not harming me, i.e. ants, spiders, snakes, etc. I leave spider webs intact. I talk back to an owl when he is in town and I carry on conversations with my cats. They win every single argument or test of wills.


The world is a wild and many splendored thing. Carpe Diem! Tomorrow I celebrate thanksgiving and then I get on the phone and sell, sell, sell!

Wild Ride!

First shift of a new job as an at home sales agent with HSN - The Home Shopping Channel. Feeling a wee bit nervous about taking orders for the first time. I have been working from home for about 2 1/2 years. Compared to my first day of at-home work these nerves are a breeze.


Alrighty then! Back to back calls. Hang up and phone rings again. One customer after the other and no two calls are alike. Oh the orders are often the same as the special value is popular. But the questions that arise are all different and I am winging it. I am using a laptop that is a little small for the job which hindered me at first. What really brought me up short was finding answers to the questions. Our training was adequate. There were no mock calls. No information on how to transfer calls so one lady hung up but not before taking my name. Her sense of humor was taking the evening off, I guess. I am suppose to have access to a chat line with people who will provide me with guidance but that was not working correctly so I closed out of the entire operation and called for help. I got an answer. When I, with great confidence, followed the answer I realized it was a partial answer. I am pretty sure I hung up on a nice customer. But, I rallied and took the next call.


Once I learn the ropes I am going to love this job. I love customers. I enjoy looking at the items with them and choosing colors, payment options and all that good stuff.


Still, tonight was a wild ride. HSN was selling an unbelievable amount of an entire closet organizing set of hangers, bags. There was a veritable feeding frenzy for this sale. When they ran out of that item they took $30 dollars off the price of two women's bags that were to die for, in my humble opinion, and those were flying out the door when my shift ended.


Learning all the special offers and the special, special offers is going to be tricky. Customers who are difficult to understand keep things interesting. I am certain I was interesting. Nothing ventured, Nothing gained!


Darn, if I was drinking this would be a great time to find a bar and knock back a couple and bask in the glory of the total relish for consumer goods flowing over the phone lines and websites. Unfreaking believable!


I plan to work for HSN. I won't deny that I immediately saw the belly of the beast tonight. MONEY! MONEY! MONEY! Each "special" item tossed to the audience is like a huge bucket of chum tossed into the sea. The sales force are masters at drawing the viewers into a purchase. WOW!!


I gotta find something to sell!

A Blast From The Past - I Love Groucho

And Acceptance Is The Key...Blah, Blah, Blah!

Writing the title for this blog required me to suppress the feeling that I was being facetious about a sacred concept among a group I attend. I struggled for a half a second and decided that one more act of being politically correct for the sake of avoiding condescending looks and remarks would put me over the edge. Over the edge meaning I could go around people intentionally blurting out politically incorrect phrases while laughing hysterically. Goodness knows the rules of "what to say" and "how to say it" could fill a volume. Not to mention, although I am mentioning, that the time and place and tone of voice also carry weight. "Unspoken things" can place one in the middle of a moment when silence ensues followed by the beginning of a conversation or conversations about motive, lack of tact, "what were you thinking"! And, in my experience, the liberal minded are the narrow minded. I dare not respond to a liberal rant, on facebook or in conversation, with anything that smacks of an "opinion"! No, I need to correct myself; Anything that differs with their opinions.


Every topic of conversation can bring out censorship and smug side conversations...oh, I am so weary with it all. If this is what liberal looks like then where are the authentic liberals? I had no idea this topic was hanging out in my psyche. I can say whatever I want to say, of course. No one has censored me to this point. Why am I spun up about it?


I have been daydreaming of far away places.


The indelible repetition of  the"J.D. Wentworth" commercial on t.v. has created an incessant repetition of their song into my brain. Perversely enough, I only remember part of the song but it has planted itself into my psyche. I sing it randomly and robustly. The actors sing that song robustly. Unfortunately this little diddy might come to life in me while shopping or in a meeting or anywhere. I have blurted out the song when with other people and they have no clue about "J.D. Wentworth". I don't even know what kind of business they are in...lawyer or loan sharks. It is one of those two. Oh, I just heard a piece of the song, "...and I need cash now!!". They are loan sharks. That is worse. That is much worse. I have a loan shark's advertisement song stuck in my head. ARGH-H-H! Say it isn't so!


Meanwhile in a tiny tea room someone, somewhere is preparing to enjoy the flavor of an exotic tea. The room is dimly lit. Although it is mid-day and the sun is high in the sky the tea room is darkened. Outside the hot,humid air confounds any effort to seek relief. In the tea room the air holds a mixture of exotic spices. It flows through the room in gentle, undulating swirls. An old, large fan with blades the shape of huge palm leaves turns overhead. Conversation is hushed. Time slows. Deals are cut. Love is found. Love is lost. And so, someone, somewhere cradles a cup of fragrant tea, brings the rim of the cup to their lips and quietly, delicately draws the first sip into their mouth. The pleasure is sublime, hypnotic and unique. Ah-h-h! Someone, somewhere

Magical Thinking

 Spent a little time on the Wayfair website recently. my mind , once again, began to divide itself. One side absorbed the beautiful things for home decor and began planning to do this or that in our home. The other side of my mind giggled and smirked. It has been "never" that I have actually spent time decorating anything. The idea that I can is magical thinking. Decorating is not in my DNA. Enjoying other people's skills in that area presents me with opposing emotions. I love what they have done to their home and enjoy seeing it. I resent their expertise and bemoan my lack of skill in that area. Believe me, it is not in me to match colors, think about how to design a room to be comfortable or to even care. I would be perfectly happy living in a hotel or motel. But the Wayfair website tempted me mightily. Once in a great while I look at home furnishings and read articles on painting and planning a room. But it ain't happening. I cannot even put my hair up or use a curling iron with any degree of skill. What would make me think I could envision a room and design it? The truth is that, left to my own devices, my room would probably look like a bright, four year old made the choices. I don't think that is a bad thing but enough of my girlfriends have given me "the eye" on that idea so I am making the assumption that type of decorations for a 64 year old woman are not a step in the right direction.


My room looks more like a mad scientist inhabits it. But just a crazy ole grandma with a pinch too much of the 60's and 70's in her blood lives in that room. See, I can't give a toot about designing a room because I don't give a toot about it. I do like pulling out the low self-esteem, "I am not a good woman. I can't get past wanting to decorate my space like a kid's space." script once in awhile. Nobody listens anymore. They have heard it all before and just listen as I walk by dragging a doomsday kinda blues around with me. If I had the money I would hire someone to come in and design my house to suit each season. You know, rotate the décor in a professional  "I learned this in school"  manner. When a flying donkey and a flying pig pass one another over our property I will  have the money to hire  someon  or maybe I will spend that money on a cool vacation spot or on a piece of property or I just might give it away. I might think of hiring someone and forget to think about it and then remember to think about it. But, by the time I made a decision the money would be gone. Oops!


Oh, sweet wonder! I stepped out of my mother's house last night, late at night, and Mr. Owl sang out from a perch in the nearby woods. Do you know how long it has been since I heard him? I thought he had moved out of town because of all the "people" activity in our area. And maybe he was just passing through...maybe he knew I needed him to spend an evening in our part of the woods and to hear him sing out into the darkness. His call was strong, melodious and beautiful! All I could do is smile to myself as that familiar since of oneness and comfort I feel with Mr. Owl filled my heart.


Tidbits from today - Sunday - been writing this post for a number of days. Not in any sort of order ( like my lifestyle )


1. On my way home from Sea Level this evening I stood on my brakes to avoid hitting three small possums. They scurried across the road at full speed. It was dark by that time. I mean DARK cause it is a country, two-lane road and I was in a stretch where no man-made lights ,other than the headlights of my car, shone. I never think of being in danger when driving at night. Well, maybe I did a couple of times on interstate highways in the wee hours of the morning. Interstates seem more sinister than country two-lane roads.
2. There was a post on Facebook with a night photo of a cougar in the woods. Someone had remarked that we probably did not have them in our area. Anyway, I clicked on the video and that darn critter let out the howl of a thousand cats, primal in intensity and frightening. My little cat, sleeping on the back of the couch behind me jumped a foot into the air and took off. Two of my other cats woke up fully and began looking in all directions for whatever made that insane noise. It was too funny but I had to apologize to the baby cat cause he thought he was living his last few seconds!
3. My grandson, nine years old, has decided to like rap music and to dance with his upper body while trying to sing along. Impossible since the words are coming so fast from the performer's mouth that only a couple of words even make sense. But I listened to about 20 minutes of that rap music and suggested he find some rap that did not have all the BIG bad words in it. Instead he found the world's fastest rapper and both of  our jaws dropped. Not one word of that man's rap made any sense to me. Guinness Book of World Records were there with some kinda contraption to measure the number of words in one minute. It was over 3,000.Wowser!
4. Realizing that my house is in a horrible mess. I listened to a podcast about ADHD adults and their difficulty organizing and following through. The speaker offered techniques for those of us who are severely challenged in the organizational department. I thought how wonderful it would be to know where my stuff is after I lay it down. I will make a list! I will make a list I will make a list!
5. Realizing I am not mad or sick. I am just me. Phew! Feels good.


Done! Posting!

Random Stream

Random stream of consciousness


streetlamp light reflecting in the rain water pooled on the dark pavement. memories coming in pieces and snippets of shimmering, wet pavement in any number of towns and a couple of foreign countries.  rain water pouring to the earth. a 28 day deluge in Taipei, when the rain came straight down in foggy light grey sheets. when rain became ordinary and life went on as usual. finally surrendering to the pouring rain, giving myself over to the relentless water pouring from the sky, remember feeling a sense of loss when the weather cleared up. when I was a child we lived in Africa and I remember watching the rain come towards our house. It also hung as if it were a long, grey wall and it moved much faster than I believed it would move. I stood waiting and then ran ahead of the curtain of rain but it caught up with me before I reached home.


A different kind of rain story set in San Diego many years ago. With friends and getting high on mescaline. topsy-turvy evening. I wandered down to the sea wall and sat with my back to it, pulled my poncho up over my head and tried my best cover myself from the rain. a light rain falling...me asking folks as they walked by about the rain, wiping rain from my forehead, finally getting up to walk back to the house. rubbing my arms and face wondering how they dried so quickly. being told by others that it wasn't raining and had not been raining. took me a bunch of years to see myself hunched over with my back against the seawall, feeling the rain and asking others how they liked the rain. took me awhile to realize that I acted like a drug addict yet I felt so innocent of trying to act like a drug addict. thinking even years after about that night and having sorrow. wondering what was I thinking back in the day. who let me wander off without noticing. who knew I was gone. I dunno. there were many nights and days when no one was watching and no one asked.


Taiwan, oh the smells and sound of the orient! As time passed I did not notice them anymore. I notice them now, years later, when a smell or sound takes me back to Taiwan. I fill with nostalgia. I crave to return. Then I know that everyone I knew has gone and the city has changed dramatically and I crave to return to a time in my life rather than a place.


I feel as if I have been pulled through a keyhole. An intense storm has passed. I hear rumbling thunder and catch a glimpse of lightening in the distance. I am being metaphorical here...just so you know...Far be it from me to use metaphors that tie together smoothly. Why would the keyhole image relate at all to the intense storm? The point being that life has been intense ( just thought of tents and an insane campsite off of the Skyline Drive. Winds roaring up from the valley below blew down all of our tents. We scrambled to get ourselves and our belongings into the vehicle. The sunrise was the most magnificent I have ever seen. Multiple colors announced the rising of the sun. The sky filled with glorious hues of soft loveliness. It was as if the earth and the sky had made a deal. The wind would rush up the side of that mountain and over our campsite but just as we were leaving the sunrise would greet us with splendor.


I have many camping stories. If I remember I will write about a few of them. Everything seems to have been in another lifetime. Maybe that is a kind of reincarnation. As I age I know that my memories are real but they are so far removed from me that I have a sense of evolving from age to age. I experience the weird sensation of remembering one person while being another. Or maybe I am still not good at staying attached. I doubt if it matters at all. Soon enough I will be gone from here and will have little concern for how I use to be those many years ago. What an odd feeling!












                                                                                     

Just checking In

Letting everyone know that I am o.k. I have been blessed with some time away to regroup and heal a bit. I have amazing friends.


Because I use this blog for my personal writing I forget that anyone reading it may be alarmed by recent posts. Frankly, I was concerned for my self.


Good news! I'm still standing though I am standing by the support of prayers and the love of friends. God is an amazing God!


See you soon!

And So It Begins!

The journey has begun. I resigned from my on-line job and I am planning my stay at home vacation. I can feel that I am in God's will for me as the burden I have been feeling is lighter.


Much later...I was thinking (yikes!). If I cannot keep it together. If I should fold to the pain I am feeling these days and have a bad time, a truly bad time coming back from it, part of my friends would say I did not make meetings so the fall was inevitable and part of my friends would say I did not have enough faith and let my spiritual walk get too weak and they would all be wrong. I am a human being in the middle of an awful time in my life. A painful, heartbreaking time and if I fold for awhile I will not have failed in any practice nor will I be less of a person. I will have been human. I am just hurting right now and I need to hurt and I am not sure I am going to keep it together like I have always managed to do. Maintain, survive, suck it up and I am not trying to be dramatic or looking for sympathy or trying to make a cry for help or any of that stuff. I'm just saying that I am hurting and I am not managing it too well and I am trying and using what I know to use and I am hurting. So, should I fold and be not like myself for awhile it is not for the lack of trying and I still love God and I will still be sober and I will still understand that I have to unfold one day and get back to business. But if I hang up the closed for business sign for awhile I am going to accept that also and feel no shame. When the road runs out it runs out. I am frightened of the intensity of my pain. I am seeking professional help...yes, some of my friends will sigh and shake their heads and nod in a patronizing way to hear that bit of information. But it is what it is. God is with me so don't be afraid for me. Whoever reads this blog and knows me may be alarmed. Don't be. If you don't know me thank you for reading this far. This journey is gonna take some time. I am so tired. I am so heartbroken. Temporarily I am giving myself the love and respect I need to come apart. It's been a long time coming.

Time For A Vacation

There are times in life when enough is enough. I am in one of those times. On every level I am exhausted, heartbroken and in need of solitude. I am so close to asking to be hospitalized. I realize this comes from a need to limit the stimuli in my life. So I plan to do that at home. Starting Wednesday of next week I am going to be at home for 5 days. I am not going to leave the house. I am only going to answer the phone for emergencies. I am going to allow myself to withdraw from my routines as completely as possible. Heartbreak requires healing time. I need for that to begin. I need to nurture myself and to seek time with God.


As is always the case there are blessings aplenty in my life. In the midst of the pain I am experiencing there are the tender mercies that manifest in quiet, loving ways. Tender mercies! Isn't that a lovely combination of two words? While I am at my lowest point the mercies are tender, gentle, nurturing and quiet. As I recognize them my sense of being loved in the most private of ways magnifies my soul. A sense of wonder fills me. I am loved and cherished by a living God who comforts me with the whisper of a tender mercy. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He restores my soul. Yea, thou I walk through the valley of the shadow of death He is with me and I will fear no evil. My help comes from the Lord.


It is o.k. that, for this time, I am exhausted and heartbroken. I will find my way and I will never be alone. Already I am comforted and ready to begin my vacation.

Random

I went downeast to visit my husband yesterday. The rains have passed. The ride to the center was intoxicating. There are a number of times when the highway has water and tall marsh grasses on both sides. I know the rain caused damages and I know it was too much for us but it seemed the sky, the water, the foliage in and around the water had been washed and polished to their finest glory. The earth, the sky, the clouds in the sky, the waters out in the bay...all of them were exquisite. The thought came to me that, for nature, the rains and the wind were a natural and important part of a cycle that we call danger but the earth calls life. I don't mean to wax poetic. You had to be there and maybe have the sensitivity to the scenery. A book I read several times when I was young called, "The Yearling" came to mind. There is an angst that pulls at me in times like that drive. I feel a pain deep inside, a yearning, a joy, a love for the Creator.
Random, I sat in a court room today with my son and his wife. Eviction court. They were being evicted for the second time, second place. I listened to other cases before their names were called. The words, "lost my job", "my husband left me and the children and took everything", I make $9.25 an hour, "Please do not hold my grandmother responsible for our indebtedness" were all too real. Too much like real life, good people, in these cases, and hard times. The judge was fair. Most of the issues are black and white. He did find a way to protect the grandmother. I could have kissed him right then and there. People can talk about tough love until they are blue in the face. I understand the concept but my heart doesn't buy into it. I cannot stop my son and his wife or change them. I know that. But my heart is heavy, my concern is high and sorrow lies like a weighted cloak on my shoulders. They don't feel it. They are "victims". They turn on each other and they blame all of us for their misfortune. I have prayed and prayed and prayed and I will continue to pray. As a friend of mine says, "God knows a detail I do not know."
Well, I have been a somber woman for a while now. The willingness to be uncomfortable in order to stay away from a drink or a drug is an automatic response to tough life situations that I do not know how to handle. I ask God for help and wisdom and He grants these according to His will for my life. Yet I am human. The will to surrender my will belongs solely with me. It is a tough pill to swallow at times. Yet I do not wish to break fellowship with my Father.
I am going to bed. My red cat sleeps with me. He loves the privilege and I loved his closeness. Time to crank up the cpap machine, pull the mask over my head and zone out. Night! Night!

Different Day! Different Perspective!

Yesterday was a tough day for me. Today has improved  because I chose to call someone who always helps me change my perspective. We have been doing that for each other for over 20 years. While I continue to feel physically lousy and my physical energy is low I have managed to maintain an average level of emotional energy. This is a good thing. It requires willingness, work, desire to change and the willingness to feel uncomfortable for a time.


Without God I have no hope of letting go, asking for help and taking suggestions.


The rain has stopped. I will go and visit my husband tomorrow. I will be bearing gifts. I am grateful that the roads have cleared and our routine can begin again.


The energy to create is not in me. This blog is for me and helps me keep track of what I have chosen to do in times like this past week. I am going home and relaxing as I well should be doing at 10:30.


There's no place like home!

And so...

And so, I find myself entangled in a jumble of thoughts and emotions. It does not help that I am anemic, am recovering from something like strep throat and found out today that my right hand has very severe carpal tunnel and my left has severe carpal tunnel. The tests were interesting. First, both my hands and my arms had shocks sent through them. The deeper the nerve the more intense the shock. Then another person came in and stuck pins in my hand and arms. It was akin to intense acupuncture. After both of these tests the results were provided and the information sent to my doctor.
All the while it is raining day after day and the roads are flooding and my husband is calling me repeatedly from the rest home wishing I could come see him. He knows the roads are flooded but he is childlike and lonely, plus he says he has no clothes to wear and that the aides did not take his laundry to wash it. I find out later that he has a couple of outfits left and that his clothes were taken along with all the rest. But who's to know? He sounds as if he knows exactly what he is saying to me. He never realizes that he missed the boat on his information. He never sees the reversal of information as odd. I, on the other hand, am exhausted after numerous phone calls from him and making phone calls to the facility only to find out that he was "confused".
My son and his family are being evicted again and their car is broken down and I don't have the resources to help them fix the car so I am helping my son get back and forth to work, get groceries, etc. My heart is broken at the direction my son's life has taken. I don't have anymore money to help them. I have no way of understanding the psychology of their lifestyle.
My mom is 87 years old and, like Robert, remembers reality the way it did not happen. The difference is that she absolutely will not believe me when I tell her a fact that I clearly remember and she believes she remembers.
I feel tired, ill with anemia and the lingering crud. I feel sad and concerned for my family. I feel alone in my family. With the rain and the illness of my body my resources are in short supply. I am angry with my body for finding some path to sickness no matter what the circumstances. I don't understand and I am so tired. The doctor said I am about a quart low in blood. The begs the question of where did that blood go but I forgot to ask and I cannot imagine how blood gets gone.
I need prayer. If you read my blog and if you pray, please pray for my family and for me. Pray that I have the wisdom to know God's will and the willingness to do His will.
Good things happen all the time. I am blessed beyond measure. But I made a decision to write about the other stuff tonight. Get it out of my mind and onto paper (well, screen)...LOL.
Time to sign off. I need rest. It is raining outside. Sounds comforting now that I got things off my chest.

The Crud, A Gratitude or Two and More

First, and important in light of how I have been feeling mentally and physically, I have something like strep throat and I am anemic. Not good news yet both of these diagnoses explain my lack of energy, struggles with negative thinking and general malaise. I have not returned to record gratitude items and prefer silence on any good deed so I have a bit of making up to do on my gratitude list.


Tuesday was a bear of a day. I was exhausted and I was on the go all day with one thing or the other. I did not know I was sick so I attributed everything going on with me as a failure on my part. I simply was not good enough. I was a loser. All the self talk that happens when I do not feel well screamed at me. Still I have a gratitude in the same genre of my gratitude for hot and cold running water. I am a million times grateful for electricity. I am not as passionate about electricity as I am about water yet electricity provides the opportunity to have my beloved hot and cold running water. I love that electricity provides the energy for air conditioning. Honestly, how decadent can life get  We are  provided a means to drive the energy that runs air conditioning, lights, appliances...well...the list is endless.  A visiting Bishop of the Anglican Church of Rwanda told me, when I asked how he liked America, that he did not like it so much because everything was done for us. Doors open when we walk towards them, stairs take us from one floor to the next without us taking a step, elevators transport us up and down. It would seem that our luxuries are beyond the scope of someone who lives a life where our luxuries are their rarities. And, yes, I believe I am spoiled rotten by light switches, lamps, fans, refrigeration and a million other things that I do not even know happen because of the availability of electricity. Again, totally in awe of the resource of electricity.


Wednesday? I must say the availability of medical care and the good fortune of having medical insurance is my gratitude for Wednesday. My husband was seen by an urologist. As I sat listening to the doctor and his description of how the bladder and the prostate interact  then prescribing medication that he hopes will improve my husband's problem I had a wave of gratitude for medical care. Of late we have had to rely on the medical community for wise guidance and, with a few bumps along the way, we have been given wise guidance. I mean, talk about modern medical technology. The nurse was able to take a picture of my husband's bladder and the implement she used measured the amount of fluid in his bladder and graphed it onto a computer screen for the doctor to see. Is that space age or what? So, I have complained about a couple of doctors lately but by far I am so grateful for the medical community and their dedication to their careers.


Thursday...grateful that God is with me. Grateful that God loves me. Grateful that God graces me with too many blessings to count. These can all be gathered up into my grateful heart for my relationship with Jesus Christ and for His presence in all the details of my life. 


Good deeds? Little ones. I don't need to do big ones because my ego will grab that and run with it.


My body feels the crud. I need to rest and take care of myself. My mind wants to stay awake and up and not miss a moment of the night. I am making progress in going to bed earlier. It is a surrendering of my will AGAIN! Gosh darn it! I don't do surrendering so well!

Hot and Cold Running Water and a Good deed

The name of this post was taken from our pastor's teaching this past Sunday. The series topic is: Get Over Yourself. This Sunday we were challenged to name at least one thing each day that we are grateful for and to do one good deed for someone else. We were also asked not to come up with trite sayings or to do deeds for people we are going to be helping anyway. I don't believe in advertising a good deed but I do love to discuss gratitude and hot and cold running water is at the top of my list.


The beginning of my appreciation for and deep thankfulness for hot and cold running water is lost in time. I am not an environmental activist. I am not a vegan. I am a woman with a consciousness. I know how much of the world does not enjoy running water. Even fewer enjoy the luxury of hot and cold running water. Beyond that I can adjust it to just the right temperature, luxuriate under the comforting flow of an adjustable showerhead or float in a tub full of bubbles and hot, hot water. It never ceases to amaze me. I am filled with an awareness of the blessing of the moment. As a result I am conservative with water. Not fanatically conservative. Consciously conservative in how long I allow the shower to run or how deep I let the tub fill. Once in a great while I throw caution to the wind and fill that tub to the top with hot water. It is heavenly. I am grateful.


I did a good deed. A little one but one nonetheless.


Anyone reading this blog will be privy to my gratitude list for this week. For now, I am going home. I am tired and need to rest. Enjoy your shower or your bath tonight.


Love!

Living on the Downhill Slide

I have been 64 years old for two days. If I live as long as most of my family I have 31 years left on this earth. More than likely I have about 20 years to go given a few of my life decisions in earlier years. I am living on the downhill slide. Mortality looks back at me when I look in the mirror. Oh, in case "downhill" seems to imply a negative perspective, rest assured, I simply mean to convey the well known fact that time passes faster as we grow older. The slide part just reminded me of a recent moment in the gym. The poor trainer who was assigned to me showed me an exercise that he literally uses one of those furniture sliders to perform. He looked darn good doing that exercise. I looked like an elephant who stepped on a patch of black ice. He suggested we use a machine for the time being. I thought he was brilliant.


So what does this mean to me, I ask myself, just to hear myself, because I am, after all, the best person to advise myself. "YEAH. RIGHT!" "Hey, you be quiet and let me talk." Excuse the brief moment of chatter. My mind scattered a bit. Fact is that I am too sleepy to write at the moment. Remind me to pick up where...


Day or so later...Well, I am over the 64 year old thing. It is just a number. Parts of me feel older. My brain does not feel older. I well remember my paternal grandmother giving me "what for" when I mentioned something about her age. She was in her eighties, mind you, and she informed me that her mind was as active as it had been when she was 19 years old but her body would not respond to her brain. That's about it in a nutshell. I am told that I inherited a great deal from this grandmother. At one time this caused me angst. She was eccentric in interesting ways. Strong-willed. Not beyond spinning a yarn with a bit of the truth in it and an intelligent woman who married a man who craved to farm. So they farmed. I now think it is just fine with me if I am a great deal like her. Physically she bequeathed nearly all of herself to me even down to the swayback. I have been told that I have a strong streak of the eccentric in my personality. Both of my grandmothers are worth emulating. They came through incredibly rough times. They were strong women. I am a strong woman. I don't necessarily want to be a strong woman. At times I would like to be able to crumble to the ground and give up but that ain't gonna happen because I come from a long line of women who do not give up. We ascribe to the quote most often attributed to Winston Churchill: "Never give up! Never give up! Never give up!" I am sure every part of the country has strong women but to my way of thinking southern women are, by far, the most stubborn, toughest women you will ever meet. Of course, if a woman is clever in the south, this will be veiled by her accent, her good manners and the wisdom to know when to stand her ground. WHAT THE HECK AM I TALKING ABOUT? Good grief, I have gone off on a tangent that is making me a tad crazy. My mind must be off on a journey it forgot to tell me it was taking. Well, the part about my paternal grandmother is certainly right on. The rest of all this stuff kinda ran off the road and into the field.  


Darn it! 24 hours are not enough time for a day. It is healthy to go to bed at a reasonable hour. This is going to blow the heck out of my beloved 3 a.m. bedtime. I resent it. I honestly resent it but I have been spending time visiting a nursing home for a month now. The wisdom to know that health matters is clearer to me. But I don't have to like it and I don't...not one bit!     


Do any of you get arbitrary threads of songs running through your mind out of nowhere like a lone truck on a long stretch of a desert highway? The one that just went through my mind...dang it...seems the key part of this entire paragraph is that it went through my mind. Must be out on the highway with that truck cause I cannot remember it now. Only thing I can think of now is Glen Campbell singing something about a rhinestone cowboy. Dominant desert theme going on here. Now I hear a thread of that song about tumbling tumbleweed which I believe has a great yodeling part in it but I could be wrong on that bit of info. I love to listen to western yodeling. (ADHD is a bitch!)


Good Night!

Just Because

What Is The Definition Of Insanity??

It is nearly four in the morning. I could have been done setting up this laptop for my work on-line hours ago. BUT! For probably the tenth time I got busy trying to fix something that one phone call to the IT folks would have resolved in...oh...sixty seconds! Yep! Took me a long time to give into the urge to call them. After several hours of tinkering, reading pages on how to disable this and find that and trying to interpret lingo that is foreign to me I picked up the phone, said my problem and found out that I should just hit the compatibility selection under internet options and all would be well. It was. Doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. I have sat in this little room at my mom's so many times working like crazy to resolve a computer problem only to have it resolved by a helpdesk in a matter of minutes. What is up with that? I am sure I do not know. It probably links right into the same reason I am still up at nearly 4 a.m. and that probably links right into my sugar addiction which probably links into...nevermind. Self-discipline is not my strong card. Apparently tenacity is my strong card cause I was certainly tenacious tonight. For no good reason but that goes without saying.


Why do I sit typing this and suddenly have a memory of a mountain road we were on with my sister a number of years ago.


Why am I sitting here at all?


Why don't I go home and go to bed?


Good idea!


Think I will.


G'night!

Heaven Finds Me In The Darndest Ways

I have trashed at least three beginnings of a blog. That word disturbs me for some reason. If I say "blog" over and over it reminds me of a bog (swamp) or of a "blob" or of anything but a place to record my thoughts. When I say, "I have a blog." I want to say, "I have a blog-g-g-g-g!" stringing out the word in a long,  high-pitched drawl.

Stream of consciousness day! Oh boy! I am sleepy. This should be an adventure in sheer determination. Know what? I have to go get dressed. My brother is coming and we are going to see my husband.

Sound of door opening, footsteps, sound of door closing. "I'm back!"

What a day! Beautiful day outside, lovely ride to Sea Level, time with my brother who I seldom see, watching my husband making progress in physical therapy and knowing the effort it requires of him, laughing with friends on the phone, going to my friend's house and playing with "my " parrott, Miss Nibbles, anxious moments scattered throughout, at home with myself and the cats and we are all chillin', having friends remind me that it is just for today cause they have to calm my histrionic self down...you know...bring the boiling water to a softer simmer. Listening to a woman of God get real about who her "daddy" is and she speaking it with force and the power of belief. Wondering who on earth is going to clean this house because my adhd self has managed to take stuff from room to room effectively trashing every room with stuff to put away. accepting that being me is o.k. who better to be me? thinking of the sparkling waters of the coastal views on the way to Sealevel. wondering what it would be like to grow up in that house or in that community and thinking maybe I will spend a night in the bed and breakfast I see along the way to Sealevel then knowing that I won't stay there alone. It is a two story plantation style home and I don't stay in two story plantation style homes unless someone is with me and nevermind the reasons. noticing that some of the homes on the route to Sealevel have been raised in case of rising waters and seeing a home being built with the house itself way up in the air on long, long structures of wood. thinking...if they don't close that in the darn house is going to take flight in a strong wind...just lift up off the foundation and fly away, floating on air drafts while avoiding the water. my Lord, if I was standing beside the home I would get a crick in my neck looking up the stairs. please tell me they are building a dumb waiter to haul up supplies and such. 

i will be 64 on the 24th. my mother asked me what we were going to do for my birthday. i told her nothing if i had to plan it. i told her i did not intend to plan my own birthday another time in my life. she laughed an uncomfortable laugh. she is 87 years old and not up to planning much of anything. but i am serious. i will not plan my own party, bake the cake and do the dishes. nope! no way! never again! o.k. maybe if someone was gonna give me say....like about $1,000 if I would plan my own birthday. I would probably change my mind. I have my principles and money can't buy everything but the right money might buy my time planning my own birthday party. 

this is personal but this is my blog (cringe) so I just gotta say what someone gave me out of the blue and having no idea in the world that I have wanted this type of thing forever but never, ever will pay for cause I'd rather eat out with friends, but I digress, someone gave me a bag full of what appeared to be clothes but it was full of wonderful, silky, expensive to me, pajamas and gowns. brand names that i have always wished i had but, like I said, i would rather eat out with friends so i guess God saw and heard that private little part of me that i haven't even addressed in a long time and He said, "My girl is having a tough time and she could use a big bag of soft, silky nightwear cause she has always wanted soft, silky pajamas and gowns. What better way to say, I love you! Total surprise and totally not practical. Yep, my girl will like this treat very much!" and that is why I know He was thinking and He, as always, made a perfect choice that is just for me and can you get over it! Out of the blue, tags still on the garments...couldn't you just die! I am overwhelmed and I feel so special!

welp, that is it for the night. a day at a time. take a deep breath. put on a set of soft, silky pajamas and go to bed! SIGH!

Levity, thou art at the heart of hope!

THIS IS HOW SUNDAY FELT!

Dingbatter or Ditdot?

Traveling to Sealevel on a regular basis has given me a new perspective on driving a two-lane road, locals, speed limits and patience while driving behind a dingbatter or a ditdot. I know one of them came to stay and one of them came to visit but I am not sure which it is so I am gonna say that I was behind one of them this week. Know how I know? I followed the darn car for 30 or so miles at an average speed of 45 miles an hour. That's right! Oh, they sped up a bit on the straight parts, then slowed, then sped up to a blazing 50 miles per hour. I have already learned from the staff of the facility my husband occupies at the moment that brown cop cars are not to be feared, highway patrol are a different matter entirely so I have learned to move along with the local traffic doing a facsimile of the multiple changes of speed limits. This particular day I was in a hurry. Imagine that! I watched as the person driving the vehicle controlling my world looked from left to right enjoying the scenery, no doubt. The scenery is magnificent. But, life goes on down east and there are people working, traveling to and fro. It was not Sunday. I practiced many of my sayings, breathing techniques, que sera, sera type thinking for seconds at a time and spent the remainder of the time wishing I had a cattle catcher on the front of my vehicle which I would use to gently push them off into the swampy but not deadly shoulder of the road. When we at last came to the turn for Sealevel they proved my assumption that they were just passing through by following the road that leads to the Cedar Island Ferry as I made the right that leads to Pruett Rehab/Nursing home. They were, I am certain, relaxed as they motored on to the ferry. I was contemplating a crime or two and then muttering a prayer and then contemplating a crime or two. Split-personality caught between the grips of the demon of road rage and the angel of "how important is it?".


My other travel story involved a local. I know it did because the vehicle in front of me was marked with a business name I kinda know from traveling Arendell St. It was a van. There was traffic so I was building a case against whomever was in front of the van causing the van to tap on the brakes at frequent intervals then drive a bit then tap on the brakes. The brake lights flashed each time. I realized in a sharp turn that no car was in front of this van to necessitate the brake, drive, break pattern. Any allowances I had made for that possibility flew out the closed window of my car. The red brake lights flashing on then off began to have a sound to them resembling a scream, quiet, scream impact in my head. I have just enough obsessive compulsive in me to find a random yet predictable pattern of red, blinking brake lights excrutiating. The cells in my body began to flash, subside, flash, subside. I was trapped behind a nightmare that remained before my eyes all the way into town and most of the way to my destination before turning. By the time the van turned it did not matter anymore. I saw it as destiny, kismet, some unidentifiable karmic payback. Perhaps the van and the driver manipulating the brakes were part of a plan to divert my mind, teach me that things can indeed get worse. My next stop was my shrink's office. Thank goodness for ADHD. I forgot about the van within a quarter of a mile. I remembered it again when I wrote about the slow as cold molasses driver not from these parts.


Two lane roads and the nostalgia for the good old days. Phooey! One of my uncles drove like the devil was on his tail, passed cars when there was no possible way for us to avoid a head-on collision with an on-coming car and refused to stop for anyone to go to the bathroom until their teeth were floating in their own...well...you get the picture. He eventually died instantly in a car wreck that was not his fault. He and all those with him had been spared that fate over and over again throughout the years. I have often wondered what thoughts passed through the minds of the passengers of the on-coming cars when an apparently insane driver of a station wagon began to pass a car with no apparent concern for the lives of anyone. I wonder if they hit a warp zone or were inexplicably lifted above my uncle's car thereby avoiding the inevitable head-on collision. It goes without saying that many a good Southern Baptist reverted to their former pagan state screaming expletives as we careened by.


So, my son has asked me to drive carefully on the road to Sealevel and I have complied. I have not been calm, serene or mature about it. Most of the time circumstances conspired to force me into careful driving. I have many more times to drive that stretch of highway. The thought has come to me that leaving thirty minutes early might make a difference. Such a simple choice might allow me to drift lazily behind the tourist or ignore the brake lights flickering on the vehicle in front of me. Or I could pull over and let the flickering creature drive far ahead of me. I don't know. Maybe driving a two-lane road is a little like living close to your neighbors. Maybe it is personable, real, communal in a way that super highways have taken away in many areas. Maybe the two-lane road is the neighbor's lawnmower at 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning or the sweetness of homes sitting close by the road, laundry hanging out, trees and waterways close by the side of the road. Maybe I should just get a grip, go with the flow, enjoy the pace and be happy for the humanness a two-lane road encourages.


I stopped for gas at a station in the junction in the middle of nowhere important to very few people. A fisherman gassed his old truck, his shirt unbuttoned, his belly hanging out a bit, pair of jeans and a pair of waders on as he gassed his truck. He paid me no mind. People from down east have the eerie ability to see right through you, past you in a way that makes me look down at myself to see if I am visible. It is not the first time I have encountered it. Usually the women will speak. A bit. Just throw out a hi or a "that'll be a dollar and twenty-nine cents". But I have come to find them loyal, strong, given to taking great care of what they have accepted or who they have accepted. It is difficult to ignore me once I put my mind to the task of engaging you. But I know a junk yard dog when I meet one and I give them space, honor their privacy, finish my task and move on.


Tomorrow I go to Sealevel. It will be Sunday. I will amble down that way (figuratively speaking) with no agenda other than getting Robert into a wheelchair and going out to sit by the water for a spell. When I leave I will amble back towards home with no need for speed and no bone to pick. I will go after church.


There is an old feller who sits outside the facility in his wheelchair. His wheelchair faces the highway. He has no legs. He never fails to greet me cheerfully, compliment my attire or agree that it is indeed a great day. He waves at cars coming and going. As far as I can tell he sits there all day watching the goings on around him. He snoozes in the sun, awakens as I approach, grins and we speak our parts. I am going to ask him his name next time I see him. I will tell y'all his name next time I write.


This darn PTSD gets to me at times. I am sitting at my laptop writing and I hear a car door close. My nerves tense up, my awareness goes on alert, I listen and wait for any sound that will let me off the hook. There is no reason for anyone to be coming here is what I think to myself and I am right. No one comes. Probably the neighbors. The moment passes. There was a time that noise would have sent me to find my dagger and sit in my living room quiet as a mouse for a awhile. "They" never show up. It is just that I often feel that "they" might some day. I have come a long way with letting that fear go. The moment passed in the time it took me to write this paragraph. The dagger remains in the drawer and I feel o.k. No one comes this way. The hatred I use to feel towards whomever created this place in me is gone. I accept responsibility today for my life. The dagger is not because I hate. It is because, on occasion, I fear.


Well, that is the end of the show. The curtain is coming down. I am going to stretch out on the sofa, put on a dull t.v. show and go to sleep. Yes, I do have a bed. And?

I'm Not Gonna Miss You (From Glen Campbell's 'I'll Be Me')

No Robert does not have Alzheimer's or not that they have said but he already has something going on that sounds like this song Glen Campbell wrote. So many people know the feeling of being with someone who is slowly not with you. I cannot say it better nor would I try. Thank you, Glen Campbell!



My heart cries!

A Couple of Days!

Since retiring week-ends and Mondays and Fridays all run together. Every day has the potential of a week-end or a work day. It is a Monday today and I feel Monday.

Oops! It is Tuesday. Monday went so fast it caught up with Tuesday. Weird thing about my life these days! I was back at the emergency room again tonight but with another family member. It is a little after 3 a.m. I have been home about 15 minutes. Later in the morning I will drive almost the exact distance going in the opposite direction to take clothes and such to my husband who is now in a rehab/nursing home. The drive is two lane most of the way and will take me far "down east", as we say in these parts. The drive is beautiful and long in minutes simply because it is two lane and the population in that area has grown over the years. Well, it has grown most of the way. I will be going to one of the jumping off points...meaning if I kept going I would need the means to cross the "pond" to the other side of the world cause our land done run out!

The cats are scrapping, the litter needs cleaning, bags need packing, sleep needs sleeping. "Honey, I'm home!" No answer. I experience a mixture of angst, relief, exhaustion and curiosity. With the past five weeks for comparison I have no idea what may transpire tomorrow. O.K. I agree that all of us could say the same with all confidence. I will rephrase. The opportunity for the day to develop along the lines of a Salvador Dali daydream are significant. Truth to tell, I am well suited for the journey. Personally I will be pleased when the wind changes direction. Or will I?

"Life is just a chair of bowlies" is a quote of Mary Engelbreit that I love. My chair is crammed full of bowlies.

I Don't Even Want To Talk About It!

The past five weeks or so have been difficult. Difficult in ways I have not experienced. Difficult in ways that are redefining me. Difficult in ways that have frightened my husband and myself. Just for now, I don't want to talk about it!

I drove over the high-rise bridge, spanning a glistening waterway on my way towards the island. I did not see the ocean ahead or the waterway below. This is alarming in retrospect.

I slept about 3 hours last night. Maybe. My mind has wandered off searching through deep woods and dense foliage for the key to a mysterious kingdom. My girlfriend of many years lost her husband last month. Her mind is searching also. We discuss the process as we share our stories of recent events.

Last night and part of today I  played with a frisky dog of size. He insisted I grab the ball caught in his mouth, covered in slobber, tease him for a moment and throw it a few feet away. Within seconds he is back, tail wagging, eyes wide with anticipation, tonguing that plastic ball  daring me to try to take it from him. I manage to grab it after a few tries, toss it again and he is back and so on and so on. It is great fun.

Car Kitty...now known as Boots lives in the house where I am staying. Between the dog and the precocious, wonderful, persnickety cat I am fully happy and loved.

I stand on the watchtower. For a moment I avert my eyes, turn to look at the beauty of the lands behind me drinking in their beauty, renewing my spirit.  I turn to take my position. I watch for the coming darkness, I gird myself about with the spiritual armour I have learned defends so faithfully. I plant my feet, take up my sword and my shield and attend to my position, watching, per the orders of My King, for the coming darkness. I was born to stand watch. I was born to protect and serve.

A friend had her baby this week. What a beauty of a baby! She borders on perfection except for that little cone shaped head. It will soon shape itself to her beautiful face but it serves now as a whimsical contrast to her flawlessness. It makes her more beguiling, charming, human. She is brand new, knows nothing of symmetry, cares not a bit if her pretty little head is in a cone shape as she begins her life. Cuddled securely in a blanket, held in the arms of her mom she rules her small domain.

I am seized with a compulsion to run. Peace! Be still!

Nevermind My Mind! Scratch That Book! Reset The GPS, Y'All!

If you follow my posts then you believe my husband has Parkinson's. I told you he had Parkinson's. It was a given except that there are no givens in this life. But, if not that then what? I read the Mayo Clinic site regarding Parkinson's. I began wrapping my mind around that diagnosis. The road ahead was named if not yet mapped. An appointment with a neurologist in a nearby town was upcoming. I knew, just knew for sure (arrogance is never far from me) that I would wheel my husband in, the neurologist would do the neurological thing and the road ahead would be named and mapped. Remember? I was going to write a book titled, "Parkinson's Sucks"? I believe that premise is secure though I will not be writing the book. Kudos to any of you who believe I would have written the book, You are a testament to the power of positive thinking. But, I digress.

We drive the thirty plus miles to see the male neurologist who was, by several accounts, going to be the cat's meow of neurologist's. I, at least, was excited. My husband, in pain and deep into the pain medication plus never one for excitement, simply wanted to get it over with and crawl in a hole. 

I, according to a professional, am given to occasional histrionics which means, in plain language, no moment is a dull moment with me. Every fire is a five alarm fire and every potential for seeing "the professional" means success is just around the corner. The description I gave is an example of histrionics. I was just histrionic about histrionics. Oh my! Well, ADHD and histrionics not withstanding we arrive at the office of the neurologist, sign in and the rules of engagement change immediately. We are not going to be seen by the miracle worker, the highly recommended sure thing guy. We are seeing a woman neurologist whom no one mentioned at all. I stay quiet. My husband hasn't a clue. He is hoping that I do not jam his foot into the doorway of the room we are entering. He is hostage to me as I push him along in the office wheelchair. He is hostage to me all the time now. I guess most folks would say I am hostage to his inability to walk or think well. Every story has two sides. My husband has always been as immune to being taken hostage as anyone I have known and now he is at the mercy of my care-taking. He appreciates it but it is an unnatural alliance for us. I have managed to chase another squirrel...

The woman neurologist appears in the doorway of our room. She is petite, tan, dressed in black and intense. Plus, she, is quick witted, sharp tongued, given to quick, short movements of her body. Within seconds we are peppered with questions about our reason for being in her office. She darts back and forth from the paperwork she has in front of her to glaring at us while asking what makes us think my husband has Parkinson's Disease in the first place, who told us he had Parkinson's, what evidence do we have and from whom. 

We had come for answers, wisdom, direction and instead we were met with  the odd sensation that perhaps we had jumped down the same rabbit hole as Alice in Wonderland and immediately encountered a wicked queen who was shocked to see us in her realm. I answered question after question although I felt disoriented and then incredibly angry and was ready to roll my dear husband out of that wicked queen's office with my head thrown back in a haughty good-bye. But just as I was building up to our grand exit, she and I had a moment. Woman to woman kind of moment. A sharp exchange of words and an epiphany. She was not a wicked queen and we were not down the rabbit hole. She knew immediately that Parkinson's was not the correct diagnosis but she did not say it. In that moment of clarity she and I connected, the questions became cohesive and the road was renamed and began to be mapped. The woman neurologist was perfection. The day was saved. Glory!

What? Oh, the diagnosis...lumbar stenosis and frontal lobe dysfunction of some undefined type. She believes my husband's back was hurt quite some time ago and over the past few years has completely disabled him. She wonders if he has had a stroke or mini-strokes due to other symptoms she identified. She knows he is in extreme pain and encourages me to keep him medicated at a level where the pain is negligible. We are to go for a scan of his spine and his brain. She got absolutely excited because she believes there will be an evident problem with his back and, in that case, believes she can help him. 

The saga of being home with him and care-taking is a saga for another day. It is difficult for both of us. Only difference is that he is stoned on highly effective pain meds. Would I trade places with him? No! He is in a tough spot...an incredibly tough spot. And, I am his care-taker. Poor man! He can't get a break! 

Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. More will be revealed. I hear Sonny and Cher singing "The Beat Goes On" way back in a corner of my mind. I am so happy I am not hearing John Denver singing. What was up with that dude anyway?

A Mell Of A Hess! I Ain't Lying!

For those of you who notice what time I write these posts let me put you at ease. I worked this morning from 2:30 until 3:30 and I actually slept some before coming to work so I am doing better. Honest. I did just say in the post title that, "I ain't lying.!"

Parkinson's Disease! It sucks! Maybe I will write a book by that name one day. My husband has Parkinson's Disease. It has probably been growing inch by inch for 7 years but he would not see a doctor consistently and it takes awhile to diagnose it. Recently it took off like a coon dog chasing a rabbit. My husband called me saying he could not walk. I went home immediately. His lower back was hurting with such intensity that I could touch him with tiny pressure and he would clinch up in pain. He has a high pain threshhold level. He does not see doctors unless he has to see one and he DEF does not go to the ER. In the past two weeks we have been to the ER three times and called them to the house twice more. He is on heavy pain meds until we see a neurologist and I am doing what I can to make his world a kinder, gentler place. We are both exhausted with the effort. I thought I was having a mental and physical breakdown on Saturday. Turns out I was plain, garden variety exhausted in every way. I cried and cried. Cried with friends at church. I feel much better.

I believe in finding the jewel inside of the pile of crap. And we are experiencing a pile of crap that rose up and flung itself at us. So, dear crazy woman, nearly breaking down woman, living in the solution through the grace of God woman, what is the jewel, pray tell?

Turns out I have found several and it is early yet in this process.
  My husband and I are growing much closer and transparent with each other.
  I asked for help. From normal people...big jewel.
  I cried and my husband held me and comforted me. Humility for a moment. Beautiful moment.
  God reached me through the horrible, hideous, panick attack, body falling apart Friday that hit me like a ton of bricks when I tried to function.
   I am not alone. Robert is not alone. We are not in control.
   I don't have to know why or to understand the mysteries of God's work in my life. I can simply allow Him to have His way.

Pretty good for a beginning, huh? Pretty good to be given the privilege of helping my husband. Amazing to hear a sermon from a pastor (my pastor - I claim ownership in this instance) teaching from the Bible and that teaching comforting me, challenging me, lifting me up and reminding me that I, of my ownself, can do nothing.

The beauty of friends...oh joy...the beauty of friends!

More to come from the mell of a hess filled with blessings. Maybe if you look closely at your mell of a hess and dig through the crap you too will find jewels of your own.

By the way...this post did not go as planned. Sounds funny coming from the person who is writing it but I am an intuitive writer following where I am led. I planned to be pitiful and dramatic. O.K. That was for this Friday past...not for this Monday now but I'll be danged if I will title this post "Bejeweled"! 

Sanctity of Life On Everyday Terms

My 9 year old grandson will tell you that I am a freak and he may have a point. We hang out together quite often. As a result he has fallen privvy to some of my deeper belief systems and, as I had hoped, has adopted them as his own despite his frustrations.

I do not arbitrarily kill anything. If I am not in danger and if my home is not invaded I do not intentionally kill anything. My grandson has learned this through repetitive admonishments from me sounding much like this: "Boy, do not tear that spider-web down! Is it hurting you? Do you have a way around it?" "Yes, I know it is a spider. The spider is important to our eco-system and, more importantly is alive. The fact that the web so creatively woven is in our way does not give us the right to destroy this small creature's home and, in the process, kill it."

We have had this conversation numerous times over the past two years. Grandson happens upon a live something or other and prepares to smash it, drop kick it or create a new way to destroy it. Grandma steps in exclaiming the sancity of that life and asking what on earth has that creature done to you. Doesn't he understand that life in any form is important? Poor kid must be confused because I do eat meat. I am considering stopping that but not for any militant back to the earth reasons. I just prefer not to send my grandson mixed messages.

Anyway, I never know how much I am impacting that child until something happens to demonstrate it. Several nights ago he and I were walking up to my mother's home. There is a ramp and there are stairs. Spiders frequently weave intricate webs in the area of the steps. Leaving their home undisturbed means walking back out into the driveway and around to the ramp. For a nine year old 100% boy making that change to leave the steps and walk around to the ramp illicits heavy sighs and mumblings with general references about me, about God and how stupid (indiscernible mutterings).  On this particular night he jumped out of my car and headed for the steps. He stopped in mid-stride, took one look, spun on his heels and headed for the ramp loudly exclaiming,  "Darn spiders!" My heart jumped in a little joy leap. I did not mention the incident to him. A grandma needs to know when to speak and when to be quiet. Inside I was having a small parade of gratitude.

The sanctity of life extends into acts of kindness, respect for older people and people who are disabled. And, well, people.

So hours have passed since I began this post. My husband is in the emergency room. He has a lot of blood in his urine and was in incredible pain when I called 911. The emergency room at our hospital is absolutely packed full of people waiting to be seen. My husband is in the hall on a bed and, last time I went by, was sleeping soundly thanks to modern painkillers. I am babysitting three parrots for my girlfriend. They have set schedules, set procedures, hierarchy...fascinating. 

Life is strange. I find myself walking around saying, "Pretty bird!" and "Hey, baby" as if birds were all around. I am eternally grateful that God does not give us the agenda for each day. I would run like blue blazes in the other direction. What the heck are "blue blazes" anyway? I gotta go. A parrot is nibbling on my ear and ready to go to bed. I am talking a distorted form of my version of bird language and it is time to gather myself together for the rest of what will be a long evening. A hearty "Night-Night" to all.

Powerless

I remember the days, and not so long ago, when I believed that I could exert enough energy through my anger and sense of injustice to remedy any situation that posed a threat to my loved ones. Foolishness. Folly. Of my ownself I have no power at all. I am impotent. Though I may yearn to be the harbinger of justice I am, in truth, able to identify injustice, hate injustice, experience the angst of watching life bring its' tough lessons to those I love and that is all I can hope to accomplish. I can pray. Of course that is not a trivial response although in the middle of my own suffering praying sounds a silly choice meant for those who cannot make the grade. Shocking to admit my response to prayer when I find myself in the thick of formulating multiple solutions to multiple problems. Yes! Yes! I will pray at some point but I do not have time at the moment. I must worry. I must despair. I must conjure up the old and unfaithful sense of righteousness I have created time after time. Lonely, defeated, broken against the futility of imitating the Giver of Life, I surrender. Not well. Not wholeheartedly. Grudgingly is a better word for my first steps towards my redemption. Even that frame of mind, that arrogant sense of defeated self, as it comes in an act of surrender, experiences release, relief and freedom. Exhausted by my attempts to lift the weight of heavy burdens; I surrender. I am powerless. I am in need of rescue. I am not the rescuer. A child-like sense of  love enfolding me with tenderness replaces my false bravado. I am home again. My Father is in charge.

A Brief Interlude

Lost For Words With So Much To Say

I have a desire each time I begin a post to find a song or a picture or a quote that adequately represents what I want to write. At times I search for a couple of hours and, finding nothing that fits, I shut down the computer. My thoughts have fallen flat as I sought representation.
I have a heavy heart tonight. I feel as if I have swallowed a stone that will not move. Yesterday I replied to a facebook post. My reply is below:

I have, at one point in my life, internalized non-verbal shaming and, through a process I don't fully understand turned that shaming into feeling ashamed of myself. I began to feel less than, apart somehow, and, in time, I did not need to experience shaming to stay in that frame of reference. I was at once my shamer and the shamed. I grew up in a culture where morals and value systems were based on religion, culture, fear...pretty much as they are now. All of it came under the headings of who was right and good and who was wrong and bad. It could hinge on the color of your skin or your faith or even on the sins of your family. I don't know about other areas of America but in the south it is entirely possible to be shamed for belonging in a family with a "history". So, I became angry, fiercely opposed to authority and full of low-self-esteem and shame. To make a 63 year old story much shorter...it was the very attitudes Lynne pointed out that began to bring me out of that darkness. There were, along the way, people who loved me without judgement, in fact they delighted in me. I remember them vividly. Their love and acceptance actually hurt. Yet, the acceptance planted seeds of self-acceptance and I began to evolve. Having people love us exactly as we are without effort or attempts to change us is powerful beyond anything I can think or describe. Judging others is incredibly dangerous. Wisdom is awesome. Compassion minus condesencion (sp?) is delicious. Grace sets us free. The difficult part of this approach to life is that I must act in this way with each person I meet, including those who do not give grace or acceptance, and that is when I know I truly grasp what I have been given.

Lynne is my daughter. She had written about judgementalism and a form of love that prides itself on loving what one considers the unloveable resulting in a particularly brutal form of shaming. Silent shaming. A loud, insidious silence wearing a smile while giving a hug. The unspoken smugness of  the "I love you anyway." The echoing of shame as it is absorbed into the shamed one's psyche. The indelicate shiver of pleasure the shamer secretly experiences as shaming is hidden both in the giving and in the receiving. Even now as I write these words I have a visceral response in my own body. What has me momentarily paralyzed is that someone I love as much as I love my own life is in a position to experience this loathsome gift of shame and from those he loves so well. And I cannot step in and take the bullet for him or scream out to him to run. For this I am full of angst at the moment. I would cover my darling one with my own body and take the pain for him if it were possible. It is not possible. I want to hate anyone who brings harm to this precious one. This is my challenge. If I am to ask for mercy, I must give mercy. The unloveable in me must bow to the love that set me free and choose to forgive as I have been forgiven, to fill the emptiness in me with the love I have been so freely given and pour it back out on those I love the least. Oh love that will not let me go, grant me strength, my Lord! Create in me a new heart. Allow my love for You to love the unloveable and, in so doing, point the way to You, the Alpha and the Omega, who died for me so that I might live and live to follow You. Amen!

I Hate It When The Shrink Makes Sense and Corporate America Can Take A Hike

Lately I have been challenged to lose weight and to eat different foods designed to help me avoid diabetes. I have also been advised to change my sleeping habits or my lack of sleeping habits. I am told that my habits are a viscious cycle destined to bring significant harm to my mind and body. I agreed, with my customary enthusiasm, to the challenges and the admonitions. I agreed to set goals and strike out onto a new path. My mouth said yes. My heart said, "Hell No!" Before I left the dietician's office she suggested I talk to my shrink (he isn't actually mine. i rent him.) about my tendency to eat to cope with my emotions. Just to clear things up: I feel sad and depressed when I think of planning meals and changing habits. I want to be healthier and I sabotage that desire at every turn. Same with the sleep only I don't really want to change my sleeping pattern. The problem is that I am not sleeping and that is dangerous to me in a multitude of ways.

So, I go to the shrink and I tell him the deal and he has heard it before from me and we talk about my emotions and the satisfaction I get from eating rather than allowing my feelings to be exposed. I have real life situations that require me to sacrifice some pretty cool areas of life. I do this willingly and by choice but, per his shrinkness, I pay the piper by supressing and denying vital parts of my make-up. The end result is that I eat. Pretty much the same with sleep. It sucks.

My shrink painted a picture of my future if I choose to continue on my current path. It was not pretty. I tend to live exactly where I am at any given moment. I rarely plan for the days and weeks to come. This response to life has cost me a dear price yet I seem powerless over it. But I want to be healthier and to be around for a much longer time and to enjoy life. Same with sleeping habits. My shrink's advice?

SUCK IT UP AND JUST DO IT!

His word picture of my future got through to me. Tomorrow I begin sucking it up and doing it! I will see him more often and he will see less of me as I begin to lose the weight, eat better and exercise a bit. Behavior modification. No fancy words of wisdom or plans other than "do it". With my heart and mind on my future self I will make the changes. All of my life I have sabotaged my opportunities and taken advantage of my own self. I do not want to reap from that harvest anymore. I have to suck it up and just do it!

As far as corporate America...BAH! HUMBUG! I work from home. I had an additional job opportunity. I took all the training, checked frequently to ensure I was eligible and yesterday was told that I did not complete the training. For a month they have been telling me that I completed the required training and would hear from them soon. Now they tell me they have no record of me completing the training and I am no longer eligible for the opportunity. Working from home is wonderful and it is frustrating. There is no office with the boss sitting at his desk. My bosses are on chat or e-mail or phone. A personal connection is difficult to build in that environment. So I have sent an email to the "establishment" stating the truth and I hope to hear a positive response. It is as much about the principle of the thing as it is about the job. I have never ever, never ever done well when someone exercised authority over me. Not an admirable trait but it is mine until I build a trust in someone.

Tomorrow is a new day. My first step towards my future starts in the morning to come.

There is an old saying, "Take it easy, greasy, ya got a long way to slide."  Ready! Set! Go!