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  My blog was filled up. I'm too lazy to clean it out. So I started a new one. |
| April 11, 2019 "No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't.” ~ Stephen King Spot on, Mr. King. Most of the time, we don't even know there is another side. We just muddle through without a map or a flashlight. Make it dark blue and that "lonely section of hell" could have been my marriage to an alcoholic. For adults that passage could be months or years. But for a child that dark, lonely, lost time might be a day or a few hours. A child doesn't have enough experience with the passing of time or circumstance to know a temporary crisis from a scary upheaval that will never end. Occasionally, we don't know we're in a bad spot until we come out on the other side. When I was only in my 30's, I was disappointed with the way my life was going. I didn't like my job, I didn't have children yet, my education seemed to be wasted. I was struggling financially, a worldly way of judging success. I was barely getting by, far from home. Finally, I finally found someone who gave me positive feedback. My old job had involved constant criticism and negative people. A few occasional remarks about my intelligence or nice personality or moral strength had a big effect. I only saw her a few months, then I changed jobs and didn't see her anymore. But I realized I felt better. Some encouragement from a person who had her own life together did wonders for me. I wasn't such a loser after all. I didn't have all the answers, but I was on the other side and could see the light. I knew only after the fact that I had been depressed. Now life had promise again. |
| Two months ago yesterday, my younger brother passed away. I developed extremely bad headaches that lasted three weeks, not for the first time. I've had muscle tension in my neck for decades, and the headaches come and go. This last time was just more intense than usual. I'm only allowed acetaminophen because of drug interactions. It took one too many every day (fewer than the maximum for normal people) and my blood got too thin. Then a virus hit me over a week ago. I coughed incessantly and had a wee bit of laryngitis. My choir is very small, so the director asked me to stand with them and pretend to sing. I managed not to cough until we sat down. That was Sunday. The coughing was making my chest hurt. I got up Wednesday with red eyes, one of them glued. I knew I had an appointment on Friday because of the thin blood (clotting/bleeding risk). By then both eyes were glued and sore. You couldn't tell I'd ever had whites in my eyes. He said it was a virus, since both eyes were the same. He prescribed a pill for coughing. He wrote a script for antibiotic eye drops, but told me not to fill it for a day or two to see if they cleared up on their own. I filled it Sunday. By then I looked like I had two black eyes, the bruising going almost up to my eyebrow and down my cheek in a crooked circle. No one hit me honest. Meantime, on Saturday afternoon, while I'm coughing, eyes hurting and itching and burning, I started having midsection problems. I thought it would pass, so I ignored it. It got worse. I couldn't get comfortable. When I was sitting on the staircase crying and moaning, I realized I need a hospital. I was wearing Mom jeans and an old white T-shirt that had 2001 United Way stamped on the back. I wanted to check clothes, but knew I didn't have the ability. I had told my father I was having back pain, so now I told him I needed to go to the hospital. I wanted to call 911. He insisted he could take me. He's 90. I'm going to have to learn to say "No" to him and stick to it. He kept looking at his bills. I screamed, "I have to go now." I paced the floor, while he slowly got ready. We went outside finally, but his car would not start! I couldn't shut up, I was groaning so hard. I felt ashamed of my own sounds, but I hurt so badly. We switched to my car which is harder for him to get in. He stopped to pump air into the front tire. I yelled, "Let me call 0-1-1, they'll take me faster." He ignored me. I even offered to call a cab for us. He got in, I backed the seat up for his longer legs. Next, we hear a sound. He says, "What's that?" About the same time, I moaned, "Dad, you're ruining my car." The driveway at the end next to the house is wide enough for four vehicles, but it narrows quickly. He had squeezed his old pick up in between his car and mine. He started turning my car to the right before he had backed out all the way. I'm thinking we look like fools who can't handle an emergency in a situation comedy. He can't even back the car out of the driveway, am I safe to ride with him to the hospital? He pulled forward, then backed out properly and tried again. I examined it the next day, not as bad as I expected, but still ugly. We make it out of the subdivision, and I decided I was ready to die, he was on his own. Two miles later we were on a four lane divided highway, and I started dry heaving. I think this had an adverse affect on his emotional state. He drove like a race car drove. Mind that he's not accustomed to driving my car, and I usually drive him in his, but I was in no shape for driving. We're approaching a red light with no sign of slowing, I stop moaning to yell, "Red light, red light." "I see it," he says in his annoyed voice. I stopped trying. At the hospital, I had to guide him past all the possible entrances, which he started to take. I pointed to the huge "Emergency" signs, and said "Keep straight, keep straight". He's never had a collision or gotten a ticket after almost 90 years of driving, so I know he knows how to read traffic signs. I still had to tell him to turn right into the emergency lot. Despite my pointing to the left, he pulled into the "Do Not Enter" sign lane and went up to the Ambulance door. He didn't stop when he got to the sidewalk, but got both wheels up on the curb! "Dad". I don't know what I was going to say, but I shut up. "Let me out here. You back up and take the car over there, pointing once more to the right place to be, and then meet me inside." There was a guard at the door who didn't say anything, so I didn't say anything to him. I went inside the door over from the ambulance entrance and acted like nothing had happened. I did a very small amount of paperwork and gave her my id. When I was done, I saw him ambling in and told her he was with me, but I was going to the bath room I was miserable and hurting. My eyes hurt and were oozing. I had dry heaves again in the waiting room with all those people. They give you a barf bag. I was so embarrassed but couldn't control it. I couldn't sit still, I hovered in the corner until it was my turn. I took Dad with me which took us ages to get to the room. Someone offed him a wheelchair, but that's beneath his dignity. I was glad to have survived my journey there. If I had called the Rescue Squad, I would have gotten there more quickly, with less stress, and probably would have had an IV going by the time I got there. And they do take patients brought in that way first. I confirmed my beliefs that my father can no longer drive. Just for the record it was not appendicitis like they first thought. I have a kidney stone and was sent home to pass it over the next five to seven days. I've been promised it is a very painful experience, but I have new drugs t to deal with nausea and pain, and to help pass it through. It's too small to blast, so it has to go the old fashioned way. But the saga is not over. After six hours in ER, most of which my dad slept through, we walked outside. I demanded the car keys when we got through the door. I was no longer in pain, some discomfort but no pain. I was full of holes and bruises from IV's that wouldn't thread and blood tests gone awry. We reached the car, and I started backing out. "What's that sound?" I stopped and got out. The front tire was flat. backed into an empty spot further down, my dad flipping out that I was driving on the rim. I called a cab. That whole procedure of calling a cab at night and not going inside to get someone with an air pump upset my dad. I told him employees, even night watchmen, were not allowed to help out like that because of liability. Then when I paid the cab with a credit card, his mind was blown. I assured him I included the tip. He was hungry and made himself breakfast. I felt sick at the thought of eating. Before I went to bed, I took a Tylenol. My back pain stopped and hasn't come back. Sunday he somehow got his car started. I had left the prescriptions in the car, so I had to go back and get them to go to the drugstore. We went to Advance Auto, me driving, so he could have his battery checked, and it was fine. I was coughing and my eyes were red and oozing. I wore a mask to hold in my germs and keep out pollen. After trying many unsuccessful things with him, finally picking up my drugs, I had to say to him, "I am not taking you home to get your tools. You are 90 years old and you are not changing a tire! I'm too sick to help you and do all that driving back and forth. We're going to a tire place." So I spent a couple of hours in a car place with an antsy old man. They repaired the tire at no charge. I only paid for towing. Today my eyelids and skin under my eyes are still red, but the ooze is thinner and not as bountiful. You still can't see the whites of my eyes. I coughed all night, but it's better this afternoon. I haven't passed a stone yet, but occasionally feel a twinge of nausea. I don't want to start the special meds until I need them. What if they were wrong about the next 5 days prediction? I'm glad I have no where to go. I have no energy. I'm sitting here, hoping the eye bug will go away soon. I hope when the redness disappears from my skin, I won't continue looking ten years older overnight. I'd like to stop going through so many tissues and coughing so much at night. I want to pass a kidney stone and get it over with, but am praying it's not as bad as everyone tells me, from the nurses to the pharmacy clerk. I have to keep my resolve to make that old man, who has been the backbone of his family and had everyone leaning on him for so long, realize that he can no longer do all the things he used to do without making him feel helpless and useless. |
| I've been on vacation from blogging and writing in general. Not a guilt-free vacation. I have lots of excuses of preoccupations, illnesses, holidays, grieving, obligations, and so forth. I tried to get back on track, but failed. I took an online course in an effort to concentrate again. The course was great, but it didn't get me motivated in the direction I wanted. I've had some firsts during that long time off. I tried my first frog leg. I haven't been missing anything. I made my first guacamole. I'm sold on that-an Alton Brown recipe. Love making and eating that particular version. I had my first professional massage. I made the mistake of telling her I had headaches and neck pain. I was sore for a week from my shoulder joints to my ear lobes. The headaches did not go away, either. Although I don't have anything in particular of grave concern going on right now (I have in the past and got through it), I am obsessing perhaps with my own mortality. I've lost the second of two younger brothers, so the fragility of life has really parked itself in front of my face. I take care of my father who is in his 90's. He takes short steps and is a bit fragile, hard of hearing and forgetful. But his doctor says he is hale and hearty and all his major functions are A-OK. So I worry about who will take care of him if something happens to me. It is very conceivable that I will go first. I need to up my game clearing out my belongings. I will never have my own home again. Even if I did, I would probably take the stuff in Dad's house where I now reside. He'd either come with me, or I would end up outlasting him after all. So stored away dining chairs, kitchen utensils, and lawn furniture need to go bye-bye. I need to do the same with a lot of my parents' things, too. He's not going camping again or fish in the ocean. I've been trying to get my third brother and my nieces, who lived here briefly when Mom was alive, to take their junk out--the ski boots, books, sports trophies. Why wait until someone dies and have a tone of stuff to clear out? What I'm considering is that if I go before my father, my room should be completely emptied and all my belongings donated somewhere. My widowed niece could move in here. Her two sons would occupy my room. Her daughter would be in the smaller guest room where I am now typing (it doubles as my office). She could take the guest room downstairs where her father stayed after his divorce. She'd have more privacy there. The kids would be upstairs with Big Pop. He would be revived by their presence. They'd be closer to town and her work. It is a different county, so a different school system is involved. And it would be temporary. How much longer will a man in his 90's live after I pass away or go into a nursing home? She could rent out her farmhouse outside of town and have it for a return in a few years. The old man wouldn't be alone all day and would have an RN under his roof. My brother could come from 70 miles away, as he does now, to help her with maintenance and yard work. So I want to be more organized, a very popular word, and live "leaner", a big word in business, at least a few years back. I want to be prepared to have my physical presence swept aside and have the others in my life carry on efficiently and conveniently, taking care of each other. I guess you could accuse me of wanting to control things from beyond the grave. Ok. While I'm cleaning up and making space, I want to keep trying "firsts". I still want to experience the world and taste its joys I'm going to plant a big box of cilantro and re-read Shakespeare plays. I'm going to take a vacation if I can figure out a way to get away from home. I may never write the great American novel, but I can dabble at will. |
| Haven't you always heard about fish on Friday if you're Catholic? I just always assumed that it was an arbitrary rule for reasons of piety. This year, however, it's the buzz on the media. They tell us the rule is to stay away from any warm-blooded animal. So snake or other reptiles will do just as well. That reminds me, I had my first frog leg recently. Not my fave. There's a myth about a pope who started the tradition of fish on Friday to help out a commercial fisherman for a very large donation to the church. Researchers have found no substance in this allegedly widespread story. The Vatican has no record hinting of such a donation or an edict. I never heard of it before, but I'm not Catholic. The rumor about the self-serving pope was just a fishy story. The tradition doesn't apply only to Fridays. There are many holy days, especially during Lent and Advent, requiring this "sacrifice". It refers to the sacrifice and the blood shed by Jesus. Avoiding sacrificial animals, like beef, lamb, and pork, remind the believer to turn his thoughts to more pious endeavors. Cold-blooded meat only is not just a rule to check off. It was intended to be a meaningful and thought-filled activity. It has affected the food business, however. I have always noticed restaurants and college dining rooms offer fish on Fridays, but I thought it was out of consideration for their patron's beliefs. In reality, it was because those places wanted to do business without hurting profits. McDonald realized he couldn't sell as many hamburgers on Fridays way back, so the Fillet O' Fish was born. Now with Lent upon us, everyone else has come up with a new and improved fish sandwich. I support people who want to do symbolic things for their own faith, like avoiding red meat and poultry. It's a personal thing, and they don't force anyone else to join them. I don't support people who say no one can eat bacon because they don't eat bacon. I'm also glad there is no commercial snake meat industry, or squirrel brains, or groundhog, etc. I'd hate to see some of those things in fast food places. |
| The media frequently refers to it as "Black History Month", and some may prefer that. However, when Gerald Ford declared February to be set aside for this purpose, it was officially referred to as African American History, and it has not been changed. Some people argue that black history should not be set aside as a separate subject. Morgan Freeman is one famous opposing spokesperson who claims "Black history is American history". Others feel that it has to be addressed on its own to maintain tradition and a sense of continuance. The example is that the American Indian had no written history, only oral tradition, and has almost been eradicated. By contrast the Jews had a well documented history, and now, though much persecuted and dispersed around the world, there is a keen sense of identity and continuity. The special observance first began in 1926 as a week called "Negro History Week" to encourage inclusion in public schools. The second week of February was chosen to coincide with the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglas. In 1970 it became a month. In 1976, the year of our Bicentennial, it was renamed and drew a new wave of attention. It is good for us to remind ourselves of many aspects of our history, including all races and genders. Dr. Jim Denison writes "African American inventors gave us America’s first clock, automatic elevator doors, the clothes dryer, the electric lamp, the gas heating furnace, traffic lights, fiber optic cable, the touch-tone telephone, the home thermostat and temperature control, the pacemaker, and a host of other discoveries." A different type of inventor, Dr. Charles Drew taught us more about plasma and made blood transfusions possible. (I learned this on an episode of M*A*S*H*.) George Washington Carver was a scientist and inventor who helped revolutionize American agriculture, mostly through his work in soil conservation. He also made advances in cotton and found many new uses of the peanut. Booker T. Washington was a great educator, writer, and orator who was a primary black leader at the turn of the last century and a big influence for about 25 years. I thought his book was inspiring and helpful for people of all races. Catherine Johnson was an outstanding mathematician who aided the space program. African Americans have been innovative and pioneering in the fields of education, science, technology, banking, medicine, engineering, and all other areas of our daily lives. Although originally intended for schools, African American History Month is a good encouragement for all of us to learn something more. We need to appreciate all of American history. Most adults have a very poor understanding of history to start. A little learning won't hurt us. We may learn to appreciate our heritage and have a little more sensitivity to others. |
| There's all kinds of waiting. Waiting for school to start, for the phone to ring, to find a job. Waiting for a baby to be born or the bride to walk down the aisle, Waiting for Mr. or Ms. Right. Waiting for retirement. Then there's waiting to die. My younger brother has cancer. We've known sometime, but kept hoping for a miracle. He's been well for a while. Then Stage Four was diagnosed in September. Clinical trials were started. He even drove himself out of town for it once. After the first set, he went in for a check up. Tumors were discovered in his arm, and X-ray therapy began. He was too sick to go back for the immuno-therapy, so he started Chemo. It was just too late. A few rounds of that and he quit. We don't know for sure if it was the Chemo or the cancer that wore him down. He's been in steady decline since Thanksgiving. He drove himself to my house for Christmas, but couldn't walk to the dining room table. We fed him from the coffee table in the living room. Today, he is a skeleton with skin tightly stretched over it. He can hardly speak and uses his hands to signal us. His mind is still working. He still listens and worries about his lawn mower. He was still attempting conversation just a week ago, but not today. He has no appetite. He is slowly starving. He wanted no heroic attempts to save his life. He can't be force fed. He was in the hospital for ten days, where they gave him platelets to stop the incessant nose bleeds. They also took care of the fluid problem that kept him from breathing. But you can't stay forever in that final stage. In our whole area, there was no available bed in hospice. So he was sent home. It is quieter there, but lonely. His friends and family are watching this fiercely independent man, who was self-reliant and never took help from anyone become totally dependent on someone else to go to the bathroom or drink water. Beyond the crying stage, we watch with heavy hearts as he teeters between life and death. We have learned there are no grudges worth holding, nothing that can't be forgiven or overlooked. There is a bond between family members that nothing in this life can break, not even death. So we wait, as long as it takes. We take turns staying with him. We feed him, pray with him, take care of his home, his vehicles, his outdoor equipment. One daughter cleaned out his refrigerator. Both daughters do laundry and dress him while tending to their own small children. Our father, who is 90, sits by his bedside as often as possible. His grandchildren have their home life and routines disrupted by the absence of their mothers. I've had children staying with me, one at a time. An uncle has pitched in with some out of town vacations for two of the little boys. One friend has driven from 70 miles away at least 3 times a week to stay almost all day. Four generations of our family are involved in this arduous waiting. Waiting is not easy, especially when you don't want the ending. But death is inevitable. We don't all have time to prepare ourselves and to say our good-byes the way my brother did. It's a prolonged sadness. We will stand by him. We will wait. |
| Oh, Dear! I just discovered another time waster. Online jigsaw puzzles. They're quick and easy. I tried the "hard" level and started getting them down to just over 3 minutes. I went through about 12. Something else to keep me distracted from my goals. But lots of fun. Very compulsive. |
| Today I watched the birds on the porch while I ate my old fashioned oatmeal. There was the usual assortment. When four squirrels took over, I ran off to scare them off. Once I was back inside, the birds returned, whether they knew instinctively that we'd never hurt them, or they knew they could make a quick getaway, or were just too ignorant to assess the risk. The squirrels wait a lot longer; they know I hate them and will go after them. (It's a long story for another day.) The wood thrush, red-headed woodpecker, cardinals, and other unidentified birds came back to feast on the plentiful supply my father puts out each morning as part of his daily ritual. I looked up from my coffee and realized I had a congregation of cardinals. They didn't sit still long enough for me to inventory. I know there were at least four females, possibly more, but I didn't want to count any twice. The females aren't as pretty and striking. They blend in more with their surroundings of tree bark and nests to protect their young. But the silhouette is unmistakable. The woodpecker was still there confusing things. There seemed to be a lot of red. In a few minutes, there was one male cardinal. The males are the dandies, all dressed up in bright red. They get all the attention. They are photographed and painted. They appear on sports logos, calendars, and sweatshirts. Male cardinals are turned into Christmas tree ornaments and show up on Christmas cards. They are the symbol of beautiful, peaceful winter. They get all the credit, while their wives stay humbly behind the cameras. Cardinals are monogamous and mate for life, unlike many birds. We always have at least one cardinal family, nesting in various locations, and they stay year round. One year, they nested by the front door in a big tree. Every time we went outside, a bird would swoop down at us, scaring us in the early morning or early night. They never let up in their guard duty. It never sank in that those tall walking animals, the humans, weren't going to attack their nest. Fortunately, they built somewhere else the following year. As I watched this male on the back porch, I wondered if maybe he was an old school Mormon. Chances are there were other males in the vicinity, and these extra females were only visiting relatives. The word probably got out that the seed bonanza was on my deck. |
| January 6 is the day we honor the Epiphany, or the arrival of the Wise Men. We actually do not know when they arrived, or how many there were, but this day is set aside to remember them. We do know they were not there on the night baby Jesus came into the world, they were not surrounded by angels or shepherds, and that they probably found him in Egypt before he was two years old. Traditionally, we put them all there at the same time and position the figures together in our nativity scenes for convenience. Legends, apart from the Bible story, say there were four men; some say twelve. We usually picture and sing of three because three gifts were mentioned. Some historians think they may have come from Iraq or Iran. Some stories give them names. In one version, one of them may have been of African descent. All the stories agree that they were wealthy and well-educated and spent their lives studying mysteries and science. We can conclude that they saw something that astounded them. They believed in the phenomenon so much that they left their families and homeland to travel for a very long time. They were determined; nothing would stop them. They traveled at their own expense with no support or backing from any source. They knew when they had arrived at their desired destination and that their mission was complete. They took pleasure and were satisfied with their mission. They adapted and went home by a different route. They deliberately chose not to cooperate with a foreign government, King Herod, but reasoned out the appropriate action for themselves. The church calendar has advent for about five weeks before Christmas. The celebration of Christmas actually begins Christmas Day and goes on for twelve days--without the drummers, pipers, swans, etc. It ends with Epiphany. The Wise Men have a few things to teach us. If we have a goal or a calling, we should devote ourselves to it and go full steam ahead. We may not have the luxury of servants to help, or money to spend on travel, but to the best of our abilities and resources, we can pursue our dreams, follow our convictions. When we accomplish our goals, we don't go back to where we started. We will have changed and been enlightened. We don't go back to the same road. We act with discernment and discretion along the way. The holiday observances are over for another eleven months. But we can preserve the meaning and the lessons all year long. |
| I am living the good life! I saw the New Year in with James Arness and Dennis Weaver. These days Milburn Stone is more my speed. 1960's, 70's version, of course. Today I am cooking the traditional Southern black-eyed peas. I had to buy the canned peas, since there was a run on dried and frozen peas. The store only had 3 cans left, so I bought two. So my traditional meal will be easier than the usual slow cooking beans. I like their smoky flavor. It's supposed to be good luck to cook black eyed peas today. The rest of the menu I got from my mother, but that doesn't involve luck. We'll have cornbread, stewed tomatoes, and greens. You can add any kind of meat or go vegetarian. Some groups believe you have to have hog's head or boar's head or hog jowls, but I don't go there. It's an old English custom to serve boar's head and have a feast before forks. In other words, you only use your fingers, but it is a huge meal. Sharp knives are okay. So you don't want mashed potatoes. Some black neighborhoods like the hog's head with their peas and cornbread. I worked in a grocery store that sold the hog's head, only after Christmas. The customer base was evenly black and white. Some of the cashiers couldn't handle the animal head; it was like a horror movie. I can do almost anything, so I would ring it up and bag it so that she wouldn't see it, then go back to where I was working. We sold a lot of them. The customers couldn't understand employees who couldn't handle it. This was a treat and time honored tradition for them. There are other superstitions I have heard about New Year's Day, things you should and shouldn't do. I am not superstitious, but I am a creature of habit and tradition. Another superstition (I don't believe in) is that whatever you do New Year's Day is indicative of how you'll spend your year. I really can't tell you what I was doing last year, so I don't know if it works. But I usually try to make sure I do something fun. I'm not visiting anyone today, and I'm not expecting company, which is unusual. It looks like it will be a quiet day. To be on the safe side, I'm not just cooking and cleaning all day, but doing a jigsaw puzzle, reading, texting friends, surfing the Web, and writing. Gotta squeeze some exercise in. Not that I'm superstitious, just cautious. |
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