In Virginia

Drove to Virginia today to attend the services for the passing of my dear friend. Not a bad trip, heavy traffic but somehow I was oblivious to it. I stopped at the mall in Raleigh to buy my grandchildren a cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory. I live in a relatively small town and I am 8 miles from the beach. Life in the area is laid back. We live on a seasonal economy. Casual is a way of life. When I step into a mall in a large city I immediately think how I need to buy some clothes. I need to wear something of higher quality. I am overwhelmed by the abundance of "stuff" available, the sheer magnitude of the environment. Consumerism on that level takes away my breath. The Cheesecake Factory resembles a palace of sorts, many people are waiting for tables, buying cheesecakes to go, music is loud. I feel like the jester in King Arthur's court or a fish out of water. My mind focuses on the task at hand and I leave the mall before I experience a craving to buy a hundred dollar bottle of perfume or a piece of jewelry that I will never wear but appears in a magical light in the store. I step outside of the mall, take a breath and all the intensity fades away. The allure melts away from my mind like ice cream melting on a hot summer day. My senses relax, my ego balances itself and I feel grateful for where I live. I feel grateful for the humbleness of my home and satisfaction with what I have in my life. Every once in awhile I believe I am missing out on something by living far from a cultured environment. I think how I have absorbed the nature of rural coastal living. I understand that the woman I am today is satisfied in her life. I realize I am at peace with myself. I love to travel and see different places and peoples. I don't often have the opportunity these days. I rode 400 miles on a Greyhound bus recently. I was comfortable in that environment. I felt at home with the people, the bus stations and the experience. Probably I have the heart of a wanderer and the contentment of a life I enjoy. I am not comfortable with the obsession to have all the things I see in malls. I get the compulsion. I was happy to move on today.

It is late. Tomorrow we have the service for my friend Ron Goodwin. I feel sad. I'm going to bed.

SO GLAD I LOVED THIS MAN!

Yesterday my daughter called me to tell me that her father-in-law had passed away in the VA hospital in Durham NC. He was in an awful vehicle accident on Mother's Day 2012. He was coming home with a card and a flower for his wife when he met someone driving farm equipment on the narrow, country road leading him home. There was not enough room and he had nowhere to go to be safe. He has spent all the time since that moment in hospital and desperately sick. I grew sick at my stomach when I got the call about the accident. I love my daughter's in-laws. I respect them. I feel loved by them. I have always been proud to know them.

Ron, his name, was a Viet Nam veteran who left a young wife and a young marriage to serve in Viet Nam. When I first met him I quickly learned that he suffered from PTSD and he had MS. The government admitted that the Agent Orange Ron found himself in during his days in Viet Nam was responsible for his MS. Over the past 20 years or so I have watched him evolve with the spirit of a true warrior and the strength of the love of an amazing woman. He became mellower, more loving, king of a large family and good friend to many, many others. He was argumentative, loved to play the adversary in conversations of politics, often spent time in his man cave, fought the local townspeople for the rights of access for disabled people and, most importantly, maintained a moral compass that I came to treasure. Like me, Ron was a character. I was not his wife. I am sure caring for him was often difficult and not always met with a thank you or I appreciate you. The love his wife showed him taught me a great deal about sacrificial love and also about building a life for yourself in whatsoever circumstances you find yourself. Did I mention that I loved this man? Love his family. Feel a deep, deep hole in my heart at this moment. I miss him already. I miss the idea of him. I miss the imaginings of him living on his property in the country near a small Virginia town and giving each of his three children land for their own homes if they so chose. I miss looking forward to breakfast with him at a local place on the day I would leave my daughter's and head home. I loved to rile him up and I miss that I can't do that now. Did I mention that I loved this man? Love him still. I honor and admire and I salute Ron Goodwin. I'm leaving for Virginia tomorrow to pay my respects to spend time with the family I have come to call my own and to love on my sister in Christ, Dianne Goodwin, as she says good-bye and I'll see you later in heaven, honey!

Death is not real to me. I often, despite the obvious reality, believe I could drive by my grandparent's place, gaze down the lane and see the lights on in their home, make the right turn onto the lane, park and step onto their back porch eagerly awaiting their hugs and love. I still see my other Grandmother sitting in her living room years after my grandfather passed. In my mind's eye I believe I could drive by her house on Christmas Tree Road, pull into the circular driveway, enter into the living room to find her in her chair. And most of all, I cannot shake the idea that my dad has simply gone for a long walk and I will come through mom's front door and see my Dad in his comfy chair reading a book and chewing tobacco.

 I had a vision of my paternal grandfather some time after he passed away. In that vision my grandfather was walking across a large, green pasture. He was walking towards me. I did not recognize him at first. As he drew nearer I saw that it was my grandpa, he had on his farming clothes and he looked just as he had when he died but he was striding, nearly floating across the grass with an energy that defies description. His arms were swinging in rhythm with his steps, health seemed to flow from him in a way I have not seen on earth. The vision ended. I thought to myself how I would never wish my grandpa alive on this earth for even one second. Not after what I saw in that vision. And, today, knowing what I know now, I rejoice that Ron Goodwin is free of a body that suffered to serve him well. He is bursting with energy, filled with joy, possessed with a gift that only those who have crossed over can know. Ron Goodwin, I loved you well, my brother in Christ. I salute you and yearn for the day when we will meet again. I love you.

WHY??

Why won't I go to bed and get some sleep? I have to be up at 3:45 and I have been planning to go to bed for over 2 hours. Why won't I go? Find a song on youtube and listen to four more. Watch three Bones episodes on Netflix, read Facebook twice and the list goes on. Go to bed, darlin'. You need your rest. Mama said I tried to stay awake from an early age. She sat outside and endured my crying until I stopped. She came in my room and I had gone fast asleep standing up and draped over the crib railing. Mama said she always thought I was afraid I was going to miss out on something. Dad was a nightowl. Mom is a nightowl. My sister is a nightowl and so are a number of other family members. But I need my rest. I say I want to feel better. I say I want to get well. So why, for the love of Pete, won't I go to sleep? Got it off my chest. Going to bed now. Two hours later than planned and a 3:45 alarm set. I never said I was real smart when it comes to self-discipline. I may be smart in other ways but it does me no good when I need self-discipline. Trudging the happy road of destiny....night!

Calming Down For Sleep

 Oddest statement today from the appointment staff member for the cardiologist I am going to see. I'm asking where they are located and she answers and tells me what to bring with me and reminds me that my appointment is at 12:30 then says, "Don't be here before 12:30!" I'm thinking well if that doesn't take the cake. All doctor's say be here early to fill out paperwork and bring a list of medications, etc. Nope! She said don't arrive early and bring my bottles of medicine - not a list. So, now I am thinking if I should stand in the hall and walk in at the dot of 12:30 or what? My fondest wish is that the cardiologist is as prompt and direct as his employees. Darn shortness of breath. I am seeing a pulmonologist who is from India or thereabouts who has not one moment for conversation not related to his question. Nope. Don't think out loud. He will cut off your ruminations with a curt, "So, is that the answer?" So I say, "Why yes! Yes, it is the answer." even if I don't have a clue because he has cut me off in mid thought. I simply don't remember my life in time segments neatly tucked away in my brain. I don't know how many times I had bronchitis last year. A bunch sounds like a good answer. I tried to tell him more often than not it was a combo of bronchitis and asthma or walking pneumonia but he says, " So are you telling me you had it about 12 times last year?" "Yes", I said, "Exactly twelve times now that you think of it." because it was he who thought of it. "What bronchiodilators work for you?" "None now, sir!" "Which ones", he asks barely glancing my way. "Well, I don't know their names but they have all stopped working for me." "There is a chart on the back of the door" he says with a dismissive air and the point of a finger. I go and look. I know that one of these worked for me two years ago and I try to tell him how that came about and that it was a long time ago. He either doesn't hear me or chooses to ignore me but he writes something in his chart. Probably dismissing me as the village idiot. My breathing had improved that day. I wanted to be gasping for air to prove the severity of my plight. I tried to tell him the shortness of breath has increased. But my body made a fool of me. Rather than the short breaths of air I had been taking for over two weeks I found that I could breathe rather well that day. There is no end to the amount of drama and uniqueness that has been robbed from me over the years by my body turning on me at the doctor's office. Tomorrow I go the cardiologist at exactly 12:30. Don't arrive before 12:30. My personality type is not aligned with obeying direct orders. Even a simple "We would prefer..." would get better results from this woman. Tomorrow I am going to only speak when spoken to and I am going to have a timeline made up to satisfy the, "When was the last time you...?" questions. I am 61 years old. I have lost track of time. I live by events and tend to forget the passing of time or the future time to pass, for that matter. Maybe psychedelics did a tap dance on my brain. Maybe stress erases datelines. Maybe I just wasn't paying attention. Why don't they get my records from my doctor and count for themselves? Can't say that this post has calmed me down for bed but it has lightened my load. I hope I can understand the calls from foreign lands at 3:30 a.m. tomorrow. What kind of a job asks you to transcribe recorded information such as name and name of company when most of the callers speak primarily Mandarin Chinese. I cannot understand the recorded information. When I ask how I am to transcribe this information I am told to do my best. You see, we might have been a little off the beaten path back in my ealier days but I think there has been a residual effect appearing in our cultue today. Do the best I can dechipering the voice of a gentleman from China providing his information in Mandarin. Groovy. Got it! No prob, girlfriend. I promise not to be there before 12:30.

Not What I Planned

The reason I do this blog is to encourage me to write. I have a belief system that I must have an inspiration to write or find a pathway to a deep thought or a funny moment. Much of what I write comes off the top of my head. I spend less (gotta get this off my chest...*&^%$...just deleted at least five, if I must say so myself, brilliant sentences...*&^%$), to continute, I spend less than five or, at the most, ten minutes on any of the blogs I have written. Know what? I cannot return to my thoughts on this subject now. I somehow deleted a few sentences that were great in expressing what I am trying to get across tonight and then I flipped out of this page and ended up back on the statistics page, had to find this blog and choose edit to try again. These are foreboding signs for me. O.K., not so much foreboding as frustrating. I don't do frustrating well. Who does frustrating well? I must calm down, allow the frustration to flow through me and then I can do the aftermath of frustration quite well. But I don't want to return to my original thoughts in this blog tonight. There is a more than good chance that I will never achieve a structured, disciplined writing habit. I am such a brat! I want everything to come to me. I like stream of consciousness, bursts of ideas and emotional moments to flow. I like to write for five to ten minutes, review it a bit, edit a bit and let it go. As I have stated, ad infinitum, I am a recovering alcoholic with the traits of that personality type. Instant gratification thrills me. Immediate results make my day. The part time job I have involves answering calls that last from 20 to 40 seconds. I gather information, I accomplish the task, end the call and pick up the next one. My hours are spent in a long sucession of immediate results and instant gratification. Answer, greet, ask, type, good-bye, gone! Love to do my job well, see each customer as the opportunity to do my job well, get it done quickly and start the cycle again. Don't go thinking that my life has to travel at that pace all day long or I lose interest. My health won't allow it. Otherwise I love an edge, a momentum that demands results and results that made a difference and moving on to the next one. I can do projects. When I worked (prior to retirement work) I was on projects that went on for months. The hook for me was that each step of the project held intensity, research, breaking it down, debating, deadlines, results, next step...same cycle. It is this personality type and my absolute love of an adrenaline rush that aided and abetted my mental and physical decline in that job. I am different today. Maybe I would be closer to the heart of the matter if I chose to say my circumstances are different today. They do not lend me the opportunity to kick start the adrenaline cycle. Even the faintest taste of a challenge draws me to the starting line. My doctors caution me to resist the compulsion, remove myself from an environment that would cultivate my compulsion, in other words, do not, under any circumstances, volunteer, create or design an opportunity for me to step up to the starting line. This adrenaline junkie has blown her engine out. My moment has passed. Naw, my moment zoomed by with me hanging on for dear life. Writing answers a need for me. Time will tell if I go beyond this blog thing. To do that I will need to do the writing and someone else will need to do the promoting, making contacts, and whatever else goes with moving onward and upward. I have no belief that I could get amongst the crowd without setting a light to the fuse of my adrenaline rocket, blasting off into a blaze of promotional glory all engines full throttle, hitting a wall, falling to the ground with bits of blazing glory scattered all around and professionals standing by shaking their heads saying, "I told you so!"

Ms. Ella Gonna Talk Bout Money!

My last post I waxed philosophical about money from the perspective of listening to wise counsel when your finances are the topic.

Today I post this song, written by the Beatles, sung by Ms. Ella Fitzgerald. The song says it all. Money can't buy me love!

Dig it! Ms. Ella gonna break it down for ya!






(I was just reading some of my older posts. First time I have done that since I started this blog and I thought to myself, I thought, you writes real good, sister, real good!)

Trying To Make A Buck

Not trying to mind anyone's business or anything but learn from me. Make a budget. Stick to it. Save some money! Being very laid back about money has gotten me nowhere fast. Oh it sounds cool! "Money doesn't matter to me that much." Tons of money doesn't matter that much to me, true. Preparing for the future does not end up in that category. Yes, there is a future whether you or I like that or not and it does finally arrive right on time. Folks tried to tell me. But, I was terminally hip and fatally cool (and that is a quote from a book...not my own words). I made jokes, put off paying attention to any sound advice from well-meaning people and here I am today trying to make a buck. I have retirement. I also have too many bills I created while paying no attention to the fact that I might actually live to be 61. Don't get me wrong! I am not angry. I'm cool. I like my job working from home. I can, however, be a warning signal to anyone who is as cavalier as I have been the majority of my life. I don't require much to be happy. I like my life simple. I would like myself a bit better if I had shown better judgement. It's the truth. No skirting around the issue. Folks tell us things for our own good and they are right. I didn't listen. Maybe I was in a psychological funk or incapable of making a life out of what I had chosen for myself. Even a blind person can hear the train whistle blow. I am your train whistle. Listen up when grown folks be talking. Or call me later for the number of the company I work for these days. They are nice people. O.K. Enough of my histrionics...another word for I tend to get a little carried away with myself. All's I'm saying is listen up and try things another way when people try to help you. that's all. love ya. mean it.