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.

UNTITLED

Melancholia permeates me tonight. Sadness hangs around me as if I were standing down the road in this picture. I am on the road less traveled. I have been on the busy thoroughfares of my psyche. I have been putting off this time and this moment by feeding my addiction to avoiding discomfort, to fear, to surrendering to the lies I told myelf and accepting them as truth. Today I took the exit from that busy, busy thoroughfare. I have arrived at the road less traveled. The road where I will face my fear, endure an intense discomfort and tell the truth that is the truth as I surrender myself to save myself. Tonight is the first night of denying myself the bittwersweet taste of denial. Tonight is the first step towards my freedom from my bondage to self. Tonight is the night I pass the future, the circumstances and the results to come in God's hands. Tonight is the night I let go. I do not want to die on the thoroughfare of lies. I do not want to harm others as I avoid facing the depth of my denial. I choose to be willing. I choose to accept the truth with love and respect for whomever I may have been holding in a prison of my fears while denying them the dignity of their own freedom to choose their path without interference from the deathly grip of my dysfunctions. The road less traveled reveals a bit of itself while cloaking itself in fog further on ahead. Despite the depth of my investment in minding someone else's life and despite the gripping discomfort I feel inside...despite that....I feel lighter, less burdened. My first step onto the road less travelled has been accomplished. I sense freedom up around the bend. I pray that I will meet those I love along this road. I pray we will share our stories with weary travelers. "I was once at the beginning too. Yes, I felt full of fear and hesitation. Yes, as I walked on my burdens lifted, my heart began to rejoice and I felt an intoxicating love for the God who brought me here. I am walking this road. You can too, my brother and my sister."