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 |  I've maxed out. Closed this blog. |
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This is a way of making myself write something coherent and grammatically correct almost every day. I'm opinionated and need an outlet. I'm also prone to flights of fancy. Thanks for stopping by. |
| I have heard a number of single people who are sick complain that they have to go through it alone. It doesn't matter how old they are, or whether they are never married, divorced, separated, or widowed, male or female, they think it would somehow be easier to bear if they had a partner to go through it with them. And we look around and see couples who do seem to help each other. Some little tiny white haired woman helps the tall guy out of his wheel chair and into her car without dropping him in front of the hospital. A man patiently gets his frail wife out of the car at the doctor's office and gets her inside. A husband keeps track of things for his wife with dementia so that she can go on trips with her ladies groups or go to lunch with friends. I used to watch my dad lift my mom out of the wheelchair, when she had to recover in a nursing home from an accident, by letting her put her arms around his neck. He'd stand up and that would bring her to her feet. He'd turn her around to sit on the bed, and she didn't want to let go. He'd get her down and help put her feet on the bed, and put the blanket up over her, and make sure she was okay before he left for the night. I remember thinking that some people look all their lives for that kind of love, of trust, of caring, but they never find it. However, the sad truth is that even a marriage or loving relationship does not guarantee that you will have a caring partner if you get sick. Some partners just aren't equipped to handle adversity. They may be afraid of death because of past experiences. They may just be too immature or self-centered. Women with breast cancer frequently discover the husband can't relate to what she's going through, how she feels, what this does to her self image. Even a a married woman can find herself alone in that dire situation. I'm sorry I don't have better advice. Single people, you aren't as alone as you think. Most people probably go through their dark days alone or only half-supported. The lucky ones should be grateful and feel blessed. |
| I heard one today that I haven't heard before. I don't know who sang it, or if it's new or old, but the lyrics got to me. The refrain goes, "Some people say they wouldn't change a thing if they could, but I would." The examples in the verses included spending more time with his father before he died, going skinny dipping when he was asked as a teenager, buying his wife the red dress she had her heart set on, etc. Don't most of us wish we could change something if we could do it over with what we know now? The job I would not have taken, the move I would not have made, the boy I shouldn't have dated, you know those kinds of things. Maybe in high school, I could have forced myself to be more outgoing, including to the cliques. The snotty girls turned out to be just insecure and had to be mean to make themselves feel better. Other girls ended up being more successful than they did. And like the singer, I would have spent more time with my mother when she was sick. I would have gotten my divorce sooner. But we can't go back and do it all again. Moving on means accepting the choices that we made and living with the consequences. Maybe that's why the song struck such a note with me. It had that mournful overtone, because we don't get "do-over's". It did make me ask myself what other people might change. But it seems we have two options: live in regret or just ask, "What's next?" |
| I think I was 7 when I got my first bike without training wheels. I was scared to death. My parents couldn't get me to ride it. The teenager up the street got me to ride it. He was determined I would do it. I remember being excited when I did it by myself. He ran alongside. I was terrified, but felt wonderful once I had my first solo ride. Now my niece's daughter is learning to ride. She's 5! She'll be six the end of January. She's been on training wheels since Christmas. They decided it was time. They brought her to my house because I have a long level driveway for practicing. As long as her daddy held on, she was fine. When he let go, she was terrified. She cried, but they kept forcing her to try. I suggested that falling wasn't that bad. So her daddy put her on the grass and let her have some practice falls, so she could see that she wouldn't be hurt. He told her how to stop. Even though she managed for a few seconds on her own, she ended up on the ground bawling, begging not to ride anymore. She wanted to go in and eat. So after they all had dinner and played with a huge stuffed chicken, I suggested we go out, just the two of us and have a look at the bike. We got jackets and went out. She asked that I not let go until she felt like she could do it. So I never let go. I just let her pedal downhill and back up in the grass, and then go in circles around the driveway. I figured it's supposed to be fun. She's still young. I'll let her just build up her confidence and enjoy it. One day she'll go out and just do it. I think we push kids too early these days. We want them to have nice things, but we set high expectations. Pushing a 7 year old is different from pushing a 5 year old. I would have guessed this kid to be fearless, but I would have been wrong. Every child has a different pace. She'll be doing it soon enough all by herself. Meanwhile, we can use the exercise holding on. |
| I sympathize with people who write in the first person. It's so much harder than writing from the all powerful insightful third party observer. You can't read the other person's mind. You cannot explain why he does the things he does or what he's feeling. You can only talk about the narrator's feelings or thoughts. Other characters can grow only in the eyes of the narrator whose view may be very biased. The advantage of first person is that, even though it's fiction, you invest so much of yourself in it emotionally. You own that piece because you've imagined yourself in the story. You haven't just seen it in your mind's eye; you've lived it in your mind. You become that narrator. As the third party, you remain aloof, apart from the drama. You're not one of the characters. I've been fascinated with Flannery O'Connor's style of writing. She writes in the third party, but is like a camera or recorder. She never comments or adds insights. She reports actions and conversations only. I've tried my hand at it, but it's hard. A lot gets left out. You have to exercise a lot of restraint, much more than the first person. |
| I have a friend, more like a good acquaintance, a lovely lady with a nice home and a well behaved child. She has made a terrible mistake. It might have seemed minor at first, but she let it go on for years. She is a public employee, and what she did was a violation of the public trust. She has been suspended from her job, and pending the court outcome, may lose it permanently. Worse, she is suffering humiliation and shame. She suffers because she was always a "good girl", beyond suspicion, honorable, and moral. She taught children at her church. She's afraid to face her old friends and acquaintances. She was scared to tell her feeble elderly mother. Her image of herself did not allow for shady dealings. Many make excuses for her. "All public officials cheat." Others just want to forgive her and sweep it under the rug because they love her. It's very hard for a lot of people, unbelievable for some. Most are trying not to discuss the details because it has to be decided in court. At worst, she can face jail time. That's not predicted. She has more or less admitted complicity and paid back expenses involved (she did not steal money). We don't want to shame her or shun her. I don't know anyone who wants to make her pay further humiliation, jail time, or probation. But we can't overlook her wrongdoing. She knew better. She didn't have to look the other way. She could have come clean before it was discovered and claimed it was an oversight. No, she knew what she was doing, what she was letting someone else coerce her into doing. She knew what she owed the citizens. We have a right to be angry, to be disappointed in someone we believed in. Once we accept our anger, and she accepts fully her responsibility, it's time to forgive and move on. The community will need to wait out the court system fairly, then let her start her life over again with a clean slate. |
| I'm a bit childish. I'm so excited about the Christmas presents I'm buying and have bought. I hope they enjoy them as much as I have enjoyed thinking about giving them. I'm sticking to my plan for books for the adults and toys for children. If the others do the same as planned, we can all swap books in January and have more to read. I have to get the shopping done early, because of the short season between Christmas and Thanksgiving and more duties at work. And the insurance enrollment for next year comes in November instead of October due to many changes. That's always a bad time for me because I have so many employees, and they can't enroll themselves. Many barely speak English. Most of them can't understand insurance, and they all hate the changes going on. So that's a lot of hours, and some crazy shift work to accommodate all the shifts. Despite the hours, and the constant in-flow of people, I actually enjoy it. I feel like I'm helping people make the best decisions for their needs and pay check. And it gives me some quality time with each one of a very large staff. But that month blocks out shopping and other extracurricular activities. But shopping early, I can enjoy it, stress-free, no crowds, no going over budget, Last year I gave a lot of wine. That's gone so quickly, with nothing to show for it, and you never know if they really liked it, or used it! My crowd does love to read. It will be hard to go wrong there. The Christmas wrap is in the attic, however, so I will hold off on that part. Now about those "Frozen" dolls... |
| I've always had an attachment to songs written before my time. When I was younger, I listened to Johnny Mathis by the hour, and I'm confident none of my friends did. Now I listen to Ella Fitzgerald, who made every song sound so easy and effortless, like she never had to rehearse. Of course, our parents influence us a little, maybe more than we'd like to admit. We kids could only listen to our music when Dad wasn't home. When he was there, it was country, which I hated until I passed 30 and went through some transformation in another town, or Bing Crosby, or Ed Ames. So today, I like Johnny Cash, Ed Ames, Bing, George Jones, Tom Jones, Glen Campbell, and Tom T Hall. I know they're a mix. But I also like Michael Buble, Dean Martin, and Andrea Bocelli. I like Robert Goulet, which definitely came more from my mother, Bette Midler, Boz Scaggs, Hoagie Carmichael, Louis Armstrong, and lots of 30's and 40's stuff. I never cared for Sinatra, and will still choose other people's versions of songs he did. So what do I sing around the house or to crying babies (softly, of course)? Fly Me To The Moon, or The Way You Look Tonight, It's Wonderful Wonderful, Misty, As Time Goes By, My Brown Eyes Blue, Side By Side, I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm, Would You Like To Swing On A Star?, etc. I throw in some Randy Newman for variety or a sad one sung by Bonnie Rait. I don't know any modern songs. Don't know the singers until they start doing commercials. Maybe the younger generations will turn to my music when they get older. |
| I met with cousins and bothers and all the families involved yesterday to eat and catch up. We had a beautiful spot, but it was a cold, rainy day. A big area bike ride ended up in the park, so we had some race officials crash our party, but that was okay because of our excessive food displayed. We were bundled up and cheerful. My dad was the oldest, his brother-in-law the next. The youngest was one, and the next 20 months. We had recently lost a cousin after a long illness, and my brother has cancer which will definitely end his life, but not eminently. We had a good time, and told stories and enjoyed the early fall colors. The beach was fenced off and locked, so even if it wasn't so cold, there was no going in the water. The boat dock was still available. We took lots of pictures. For the big group picture, the babies started crying. They wanted to play not pose with the grown-ups. I started singing "E-I-E-I-O" which they like to sing, too. Soon, all the grown-ups were singing Old MacDonald, the babies were listening, and we got some great shots. No one would know we sounded like old nerds singing a children's song. We just looked happy. We cherished our moments together, and hugged good-bye, like we might never get another chance. It was one of the best rainy afternoons I've had in ages. |
| It's a shame we wait until our grandparents or great aunts and uncles are gone before we get to the age that brings on a desire to know our roots. So many of the legends, the stories, and the facts die with them. Then it's too late to sort out the bits and pieces that we've heard or substantiate the ones we remember. In some cases you can get three witnesses to make a legal claim. This helped when my grandmother needed proof of age. She never had a birth certificate, since she was born in 1905 at home in the country. Someone doing genealogical research found three older women who knew her mother and could attest in front of a notary public that she was born on a certain date in a definite place. That became a legal document not only for the family tree, but social security and insurance. Both sides of my family claim to have Cherokee Indian, at least 4 to 5 generations before me. But we can't prove it because birth certificates were not made for Indians in those days, and wedding licenses did not include the mother's name or other background. The old folks claiming these ties have passed away at least a decade or two ago. Then there are some stories that I heard that in my research I have disproved. The stories actually happened to relatives, but not the closer relatives in my state. They were my grandmother's cousins families in other states. Facts, prison records, and grave sites bear that out. It took some of the fun out of family story telling at gatherings. My relatives complained I burst their bubble with the truth. But some in-laws can still brag about their own bootleggers and bank robbers. Black sheep make life interesting, don't they? Then there was a tale of my own grandfather's grandfather who died in the Civil War. The real story was much more interesting than what some other genealogist printed in his book. I found the facts in the library of Congress for Civil War soldiers.It was a tragic story. I doubt his own family knew much of it. None of it was handed down. My advice to anyone, no matter how young you are, write down your grandparents' stories. They may not be interesting now, but some day they will be history. You will want to tell them to you children's children. You'll need to remember them and where to find the proof. |
| If you write for a living, I guess it's easy to tell someone. When you do other things, you run into a variety of reactions. I don't generally volunteer the information. But when it comes up, I get reactions such as, "That's great. Keep working at it." to "You have a blog?" with a quizzical look that makes me regret saying it. "Poetry? What a waste." The people who say these things are surprising, too. The ones you'd expect to be narrow minded approve of creative expression. The ones you'd expect to be understanding or not need any explanation turn out to be the judgmental ones who act like you're an obsessive gambler or a moonshiner. Like there is a negative stigma to writing as a hobby. The ones I've encountered have creative hobbies like dancing, or playing piano, or gourmet cooking. But writing seems odd to them. Well, I move along and never mention it again to those folks. You can't live for what other people think. |
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