Just A Little Something

Writing left me without so much as a good-bye. I sat here at the keyboard concentrating. I do stream of consciousness. It is difficult to write stream of consciousness when writing leaves town for awhile. No true value in forcing myself to flow when the stream has been temporarily dried up. So I sat here, mainly out of a bizarre compulsion to write for the sake of you the reader. Yes, that is neurotic and people pleasing and hilariously funny given the HUGE number of people who hit on blog in a month. I am a people pleaser more often than not even if there is only one other person than myself in my world. Awkward admission but a true one nonetheless. As it turns out my compulsion to post on this blog just to post on this blog was not enough to bring writing back home. That is until today, at this moment, right now moment. I said quite a few posts back that I was writing for me...to develop the discipline of writing. Sh! I know. If this is my idea of developing discipline how far of course was I when I began? And you are perceptive to, just that quickly, think that thought. Either I was long, long away from discipline and what I am doing in the blog is a true accomplishment for me or I am blowing smoke up someone's skirt when I say I want to build discipline but, I swear on a stack of books on a wide range of topics (kinda stacked) around my room, that I believed I would write regularly. Daily, as a matter of fact. Am I an underachiever? Do I even have a passion for any one thing in my life? Love comes and love goes or it fails and lurks around in my psyche. Love is a four letter word. Use your imagination to choose a four letter word. "Lake"? Love is a lake. I dunno. There is a poem in that statement. Love is grim. Now there is a concept I can wrap my mind around when the darkness and isolation of "poor me" settles in my heart.

Snippets

Owl not seen lately. God bless and keep Mr. Owl, please.

Cat meows in a way that sounds just like he is saying "out-t-t-t" "yeow"

When I hear classical music I become distracted because I choreograph dances during the music. In my mind I coach and arrange the dancers, the set, all of it and at times I allow myself to join in the scene.

Darn it! I am too sleepy to make sense. I'm going to bed.


Good night!

I NEED TO RANT or MY MOTHER IS ON FACEBOOK AND HAS AN IPAD

There are many topics I could have chosen. I had a post started which was a confessional of sorts. That and anything else I may wish to post must take a backseat to my need to rant. If I don't get this off my chest I may throw my laptop out of the window, chunk my IPAD in the creek and permanently go off the grid. Honestly! I am defeated by things of a technological nature. I am of the intuitive variety. This means that anything I attempt to change, utilize correctly or conjure up on my laptop or IPAD takes time. Lots of time. Frequently I give up and take the simplest way possible. I intuitively know when to quit. The groundwork is being laid for you, the reader, to understand, while I use a computer for hours in a day on my job and while I can navigate well enough to do what I mostly want to do I am by no means a teacher of this craft. SO!! I have an 85 year old mother who has been using her computer for some years now. Mostly checking e-mails, playing some games and wondering from time to time what else she could do but never pursuing it.
I got a Kindle. Mom watched me with it and she bought a Nexus. This is where my world went to computer hell. Computer terminology is lost on an 85 year old woman. There are multiple upon multiple decision points to perform most of the tasks on a tablet or a computer. Little decision points. Try and count them as you work on your laptop or tablet. They are, for the most part, second nature to many of us. My mother, did I mention, has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder...mild...but present nonetheless. Teaching her to use her Nexus has been like teaching a fish to ride a bicycle. O.K. She has learned more than a fish will ever know about a bicycle but I believe I make my point. Every day there is something new that doesn't work, doesn't make sense or follow in logical order to my mother's way of thinking. Frequently she blames it on the never seen "they" who live in the computer and the Nexus and have now also inhabited her IPAD. Yep, that is correct. I was given an IPAD. Mom's nearly 80 year old sister has an IPAD. She sent my mother the money to get an IPAD. This is a type of diabolical plot. It is one of many that have followed me in my life. This one may send me, at long last, to the looney bin for a 28 day stay. YA WANNA KNOW WHY?? I'll tell you why!! MY MOTHER WANTS ON FACEBOOK. Her sister wants her to get on Facebook so they can talk to each other and send things to each other and I am dripping with sarcasm and venom at this point in this post because my mother could fly a jet airplane upside down faster than she will ever understand Facebook. After all, this is the woman who was shocked when SIRI, the woman who speaks through the IPAD, appeared in the middle of one of our "training" sessions. Yep! Siri! My mom asks how does she talk to all the people who have IPADs at the same time. When I told my mom, "Say your name!" she leaned in close to the IPAD and said, "Say your name". If I'm lying, I'm dying." Well, we laughed so hard I was close to being sick as mom and Siri danced around with each other for a few minutes. They have not made any advancement in their relationship. I don't see it in their future.

But Facebook, oh yes, she is now a proud Facebook user. User? She has an account. She accesses that account when I am not around. She saves up questions for me. She wants to know why her e-mail is on Facebook but not in her email account. This took me awhile to grasp. Facebook was sending her notifications of the people clamoring to friend her. Mom spooked. How did they know her e-mail address? To make it worse, her computer thought those e-mails were suspicious so they were red. GASP! Red e-mails from Facebook that were not showing in her e-mail on the IPAD. Why not? Why was her  e-mail going to the wrong place? She would never learn. She is old and shouldn't even try but her sister wants her to and..."Stop! Stop a minute! Who is that in that picture?" She thinks it is a woman she knows from years past. It is an ad or something of Ellen Degeneres giving her bride a big kiss on the lips. Yep! And why doesn't she have a picture showing when her Facebook is up? I should put one there immediately. She wants one. Who would want a blank space where your picture should be and please make it one that is as flattering as possible. Her friends will be seeing it. And..........I got home at midnight tonight. I am going to quit and watch the second episode of the new House of Cards.

Y'all have not heard the end of this saga by any means. Misery loves company!

I am Writing Something...Sorta...Until Then...

Welcome, Sunday! Welcome!

I LOVE EACH OF YOU!

The Kid In Me Honors The Kid In You

Why do they predict snow that is going to be deep enough to be the deepest snow we have had in a number of years and then gradually work back from that tantalizing tidbit changing the prediction to a heavy wintry mix with one to two inches of snow? Why don't they start out predicting a heavy wintry mix with possibly1 to 2 inches of snow and after the next couple of advertisements ,oh delicious surprise, announce the new prediction of at least a foot of snow that will fall in heavy flakes blowing and floating to the ground; snow flakes like I saw growing up. Big, fat flakes floating through the night air onto my upturned face and my outstretched tongue. Illuminated by the street lamp or the porch light the falling snow looked as if God were shredding the clouds, pouring them down  for our pleasure. Oh, did I mention that the title of this post refers to the part of me that gets drawn into the anticipation of snow in an intensity like that of my seven year old grandson's. Yes, I moan about it and say adult things like, "What a bother! The kids will miss school. People will wreck their cars." emulating the adultness that is guaranteed to suck the joy out of joy. All the while the kid in me is jumping up and down, hanging on every weather word, yearning for snow up to my knees. Oh, please! Please! A night of snowy wonder filled with pure joy falling to the ground in huge, sloppy snowflakes accumulating up to my knees would be just what the doctor ordered.

Ah, Heck! I Wanna Be Silly!

I love the British. I freaking love the British! La Da Dee Dah!

Back In The Saddle Again

Yep! I am back in the saddle again. Ever the recovering alcoholic, meaning I am continually beset by the belief that, after 30 years of sobriety, I can attend zero meetings for long periods of time without consequence. Ever the recovering alcoholic I must admit, much to the despair of well meaning friends, that I am an alcoholic, not that I am a recovered alcoholic. Members of certain Christian groups view this as an affirmation that inherently denies the redeeming grace of our Lord Jesus Christ. I, on the other hand, believe it would be refreshing if, before the sermon in church, we went around the room and said this, "I am Elizabeth Baron and I am a sinner." You would, of course, replace the name with your own name. When dealing with religious forms of behavior detail is important. Once the identification with our commonality was affirmed we could relax and hear what the Bible has to say about the grace of God, redemption and the ways to live our lives on a daily basis without the tyranny of sin. But, I am already following that path with great success in my personal walk. I have not been doing the same with my alcoholism. I have not been attending the meetings where I identify myself with others who say they are alcoholics and have a desire to stop drinking. The pay off for skipping that fellowship with others like myself and listening to how they stay sober and listening to the literature that shows us the way to live sober one day at a time has been my regression into behavior patterns that are harmful to myself. I don't know why I am writing this and using extremely long run-on sentences. I meant to write stream of consciousness or perhaps pontificate on a random topic...keep it light for the night. Anyhow, the moment I began attending meetings again I felt relief. I confessed to a room full of people that I was out of control in an area of my life. I asked for someone to take me aside and give me a tough talking to and, wouldn't you know it, God had just the right woman in that room on that day. She brought it to me. Sweet. Southern. Tender. She had me on the ropes bringing me the truth, confronting me with my own words, loving me, praying with me and leaving me with a clarity of perspective that I desperately needed. So, heck, I don't know what I am actually trying to say in this post. God saw fit for me to find the rooms of AA. AA gave me the path that sent me back to God. When I plug in both God's will for my life and what I learn about myself in AA I am safe in the arms of Jesus and I am a sober, contributing member of society serving God. I am back in the saddle again.