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 |  This was my first blog, maybe my best blog...nah! The journey continues with another..!
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Check out this signature's match at Thomas  's blog** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "You want to become aware of your thoughts and choose them carefully. You are the Michelangelo of your own life; the 'David' you are sculpting is YOU!" Dr. Joe Vitale
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Storms of the Century hit my little part of the world  Lots of communities are without power as we speak...thank GOD I'm not one of them  Last night, however, it was touch-and-go; lights flickered, cable went in and out (which had my youngest screeching in agony every half hour or so), and so did the internet...that one had my oldest screeching. But here we sit with all our power while many thousands in this area languish in area shelters. We were hit with-not snow-but ICE. Ice falls on trees and causes all manner of problems. Power lines falling even closed roads around here. Yup, fun weekend  Actually, we had to venture out on Saturday for Sarah's dance competition. It was one of those I despise, where a dance school "showcases" little girls in postage stamps for costumes and innappropriate music to girate to...YUCK!!! I was proud of my daughter's dance school...fabulous numbers, tasteful costumes, lots of enjoyable entertainment. Period. Why do parents, teachers, and other sundry adults not realize that certain songs, tiny costumes, and thrusting hips send the wrong message to impressionable six-yr-olds who are pressed do this sort of thing? Why do adults not realize that they are perpetuating the myth of women as sex objects to an entirely new generation?? I was offended and gratified to observe that my daughter was, too. GOOD. At the beginning of this dance year I was even leery of Sarah's jazz number; "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend." The teacher chose a very nice costume-irridescent blue with a crystal choker, ring, and earrings. the costume itself looks like a small dress-mini-skirt but still modest by dance costume standards-and she does a great job with it. Lots of attitude is required, something she's RIFE with, believe me She also participates in a tap number from "Aladdin," and the costume is "cartoony and adorable. Then there's the "Wonder Woman" costume from the production number "Superheroes." Even as Wonderwoman she's tastefully covered and the number is AMAZING. NO, girls do NOT have to show their skin to be talented and awarded a gold medal. My daughter's dance studio proves it |
| Have you ever experienced an epiphany? A time when something you read, watch, or hear somehow opens your theoretical eyes and you experience what Oprah calls that "ah-ha" moment, the one that forever changes your outlook? Such an event happened for me a few days ago. It happened quite by accident. I was in the public library and stopped on my out to buy a cup of coffee. The library I visited has a coffee shop attached to it, and while I sipped my latte` I browsed through racks of magazines that are on sale for a dime, the ones donated by library patrons. Sometimes I find a grand bargain. For a dime I experienced my epiphany. Speaking of Oprah, I spied her January 2007 magazine and took a look at the captions on the front. I don't always enjoy the Oprah magazine; her show and that mag have a way of making me feel like a slug for not "changing my life." I'd LOVE to change my life and be a more content, satisfied, happy person, but I haven't found the magic formula. Sigh. But one caption on this edition caught my eye and held it. "Be the Woman You Want to Be! Why It's So Hard To Change Yourself--A Revolutionary Guide to Making it Happen" Hmm. Could this article really offer me something I haven't already read? Why not give it a try...I was intrigued. So I deposited my dime and sat at a table, opened the magazine to "the article"...and my epiphany was born.I'm one of those annoying people who always has to know "why." If a doctor tells me to take a particular medication without telling me why I get irritated. Why do something if I don't have all the facts? I'm endlessly curious, probably a trait from my newspaper reporter father, and I HAVE TO KNOW! Even as a child, when an adult directed me to do something I wanted to know WHY. If the answer made sense, which it usually did, I'd say, "oh, okay." And do it. If the answer didn't make any sense I'd usually still do it but grumble and make my feelings known. Annoying, right?  This curiosity has served me well since Liz's diagnosis. I put nothing into her-medication-that I don't thoroughly review. As soon as her psychiatrist put her on a cocktail of meds when she was in the hospital the second time last year, I went straight to Borders, found a thick book about psychiatric meds and their interactions, and totally agreed with his decisions after reading what her particular cocktail was intended to do. I have this relentless NEED to understand.I didn't connect this tendency of mine with what I've been going through in my life. I'm overweight, out of shape, stagnate in my life in all ways. I have yet to return to school, don't have a job right now, and I'm not writing fiction. WHY?!? I like vegetables and salads, I'm not one who'd have a problem with "eating right" if I just took the time and effort to DO IT. I like exercise once I begin...beginning is the struggle! I love to write and writing fiction has been my mental salvation more than once, so what gives?!? This is what I ask myself day after day, anymore. I get tired of the rhetoric in my own head. On to the article... Rebecca Skoot, you rock! The author of this great article begins with her first visit to Nora Volkow, the director of the National Institute on Drug Abuse. First it tackled the eating issue--cool, I have that--and how food can be as addictive as a drug like heroin. I wanted to pump my fist upon reading those words and shout, "I knew it!" Kicking an addiction is just that, no matter what the "drug" of choice may be. It's explained very simply and I felt silly for not making the connection myself. Brain chemistry. All the research I've done in this area and I didn't connect my addictions to brain chemistry...duh! It's called dopamine, the chemical in our brains that makes us feel pleasure. We are hardwired to crave that dopamine flood. What causes the influx of dopamine is different for different people. Now this chemical works for human beings as a sort of survival mechanism, according to Nora Volkow. To procreate we need to enjoy sex, thus the influx of dopamine to tell us we're feeling pleasure; we need to eat to live, hence the dopamine enhancement when we eat...the list could continue on the ways our pleasure mechanism was created to assure survival of the species. However, dopamine can also fool us into habits that aren't so great, like alcohol addiction, drug addiction, and yes, food addiction. There's also shopping, gambling, smoking, television, video games, and who knows what else we've found to shove into the "addiction" pile Dopamine is a sneaky little chemical. It DRIVES us to fulfill our needs--or what we percieve our needs to be. So how do we do away with habits that aren't good for us? Ah, there's the rub.The adult brain creates neural pathways, and these pathways are what creates our own realities. These pathways lead us to do or not do, perform or not perform. Drink or not drink. Whatever created that dopamine flood, when done enough, becomes as hardwired as breathing. YOW! To re-direct our pathways is hard. Very, very hard for most people. It has something to do with our frontal lobe, the part of our brain responsible for decision making...basically, it's our common sense detector. It has to kick in big-time for change to occur. And here's where I truly experienced my "ah-ha." Variables can work against re-directing our neural pathways, variables like stress. Stress can cause the frontal lobe to almost shut down, forcing the brain to continue along with its established pathways for the dopamine "fix" that every brain needs to survive. The frontal lobe is necessary for complex thought. Enough stress that shuts down an area like the frontal lobe and...OH. No wonder I've had a hard time getting myself motivated. AH-HA! I'm not the slug I thought I was! Now I get it. Now I know WHY. I've read two of Dr Phil's books and wondered why I couldn't "make the change" the way he directs. Logically I know they'll work, but for some reason I couldn't seem to DO IT. For me, the missing key was understanding why. I like to deny that Liz's "issues" have stressed me out so much, along with other sundry life events. Any one of these events probably wouldn't have short circuited me, but enough of them and--oops, my frontal cortex was in shut-down mode. The article recommends stress management. Ookay, but just what that is varies for different people, and I'm not sure how to manage mine well. I do know, though, that since reading the article I've been busy. I've always made lists and try to stick to them, but now I make those lists and spell out every single thing I need to do with my day. It's worked for the last couple of days. When I feel myself wanting to shut down and crawl onto the couch, I kind of pat myself on the back, remind myself that it's okay to feel overwhelmed, and drive on. The article also mentioned that we should reward ourselves often and lavishly-however we can-for striving to make good changes. Our brains respond to rewards, even pats on the back. So my big hurdle has been stress. Who knew. |
| I've spent the last few days reading a book that actually has me thinking...it's called Death of a Writer by Michael Collins. It's not the best work I've ever read, but some parts of it are discomfitting simply because his descriptions are so accurate. Especially his beginning ones about a writer whose muse has left him in a deep state of depression. He could have been reaching into my brain during my darkest moments, and that realization had me squirming and putting the book down for a few hours at a time, not sure if I'd be able to pick it up again. But I did, and I saw what happened to that writer as a sort of cautionary tale. The story's focus isn't really about the writer's pathos; it serves as merely a catalyst in a larger story. I think Collins tries to tell too many stories in one and the book becomes a maze of different protagonists and story arcs--it becomes difficult to keep up with each individual and their personal demons--when in the end we're left feeling somehow ripped off, as if he didn't spend quite enough time on any of his characters and what drove them. One writing lesson I picked up from this is to concentrate on one story and protagonist at a time. But more disturbing and squirm-worthy was that writer's depression and his arch rival's reaction to it. They were both up-and-coming stars of the same graduate program in creative writing. One took the "artistic" route and became embittered when his work didn't sell, when he had difficulty even getting his work published after a few years. The other took a literary turn and wrote more "public friendly" books. He got famous and rich while the other writer got depressed and increasingly more bitter. In the end, however, neither was happy. The latter writer, the popular one, felt that he'd "sold out" for public accolades. He was secretely as jealous of the "artistic" writer as the artistic writer was of him. So what's the lesson, here? One character's simple question to the bitter man rings in my ears; "Exactly who is it you're writing for?" Hmm. Perhaps a lesson to bring from these two characters has something to do with what compels us to write. I think both of them were too invested in what everyone else thought of their work; for the successful one it altered his writing in a way he didn't like. For the "artistic" one, he stopped writing because he became obssessed with the fact that "no one would read his work, so why bother." Why bother. Because I have to write like I have to breathe. That's "why bother." Because I don't want to end up like that bitter man, willing to take my own life as a means of self expression because I refuse to write "what no one will read." Who CARES?! To be truly mentally healthy, for some reason I have to write. And write and write and write. Sure I want someone to read it. But that's not the most important part of my writing life. The most important part is the authenticity of my writing voice and a conviction that what might eventually get published is truly from my own soul. It's too easy to be sucked into society's idea of success. True success comes from within. Ask anyone who's really satisfied with themselves. It didn't come from out there. It came from the soul. Good writing, Michael Collins. You made me think.  |
| Yeah yeah, I know I'm late. Valentine's Day. Bah humbug!! I'm irritated by February 14. And not just because I received no valentine. Okay, my 12-yr-old gave me a Scooby Doo one. I'm against it because it forces the issue. Relationships. Who needs the pressure?! Not me! I've never been a fan of this particular holiday. Waitaminute, okay...maybe back in elementary school I kinda liked it because of the candy. But even then I would expose my heart in some small way, send a boy I liked "that" valentine which said it all...you know the one. "I only have eyes for you." And nada. Oh sure I got my hand held at recess by OTHER boys, but still...I am the type who pines for that "strong silent type," the one who hesitates to make his feelings known. I'm addicted to aneurisms, I guess Oh well. Last year--back when I was writing (bigsigh), I actually entered a romance contest. I don't write romances as a rule, but I wanted to stretch my writing muscles, so I thought I'd give it a whirl. I read "those" books when I was 12-15, so I had to know something about them, right? Being the prude I am, I wasn't always comfortable with the "porn" segments of those romances, so if you're hoping to find THAT, close my port now. Heh heh. I'm too easily embarrassed for that sort of thing. Anywho, even though I wrote it a year ago-has it been that long?!-I thought I'd share it again for anyone who has yet to read it and would like a little romantic getaway inside the safety of a few words:
Oh yeah, and I won the contest.  |
| Is it who ya know...? I just finished reading a book that took me real effort to slog through. It seems like most tomes are similar experiences for me, these days. At least the ones that have been published within the last five years or so. Maybe ten. I can't believe some of these "authors" are actually PUBLISHED by reputed PUBLISHING HOUSES and represented by AGENTS. Good grief. If these no-talent hacks can find representation, we should all expend some serious shoe rubber and pound that pavement...it's either sheer force of will or force of "knowing" that publishes these people. I mean REALLY. My most enjoyable moments as a literate have been, for the past year, at this website and with classic authors--Willa Cather, my hero WILL FAULKNER, and sundry w.com members...you know who you are I can learn more as an author and A PERSON by pillaging the portfolios of my fellow w.com members than by pillaging the shelves at Borders...this tells me...that we need to get off our keisters as a collective group and lobby for publication!!! We shouldn't allow ourselves to "rest on our laurels," to use a tired cliche` (as I tend to do too often). I won't share the title of the last tired little story that elicited this tirade--suffice it to say that I know we at this auspicious website are better than what I've been reading for probably the last year. How sad! Let's get busy, fellow literates!!! |
| Ooh, lots of time between blog entries! I don't mean to let so much time slip through my fingers, but time, how it DOES seem to glide away while my back is turned...or I'm sleeping...or at some activity with the critters...SIGH. One o' those weekends when the sundry happenings with the kids took up most waking moments. Basketball games, a dance competition that spanned two days, friends over, blah blah. I'm glad my kids had a busy, happening few days, but of course I now want some TIME for MYSELF. So after spending a morning (and part of the afternoon) cleaning up after said weekend, I'm planted at this here computer, determined to read blogs, answer e-mails, and WRITE. Hopefully I'll be more eloquent with a stunning blog entry tomorrow. |
| I can't remember the exact wording--I wish I had a photographic memory --but it goes something like this: I don't know why you want us to write about ourselves. You think you already know who we are; the jock, the brain, the princess, the basket case, the criminal. And this morning at 7 o'clock, that's who we thought we were, too." Do you recognize that? Unless you live under a rock or don't believe in movies or some such thing you might catch a glimpse, even with with my butchered rendition, of that old movie The Breakfast Club. I was IN LOVE with that movie when I saw it over twenty years ago (Sheesh! It doesn't seem so distant to me). It was so "deep," I thought. The message it rendered should be heard by the paunchy establishment, I righteously believed with that "perfection of youth" view we all have at a certain age The characters were so real, the dialogue so true! "They" pigeon-hole us into roles and try to mold us into "their" ideas of what we should be. Bogus!! And ahem, Judd Nelson's "criminal"--yum! What teenage girl didn't want to reform THAT bad boy back in 1985? And then I grew. Not physically, of course, but mentally. Grew into a wise, old, cynical woman who saw the very same movie with jaded vision. When I watched it a few years ago with my own teenagers I snorted and couldn't resist a few eye-rolls here and there. This time around I was the "paunchy establishment" and saw a different tale, featuring angsty adolescents who created their own drama in most cases, laying all their faults and "issues" at their parents' feet and taking little to no blame for their own choices and mistakes. Annoying! Disturbing, too, that now my daughters salivated over Judd Hirsh's "criminal." Yikes! My daughter Rachael is disappointed. She tried out for a solo in choir and didn't get it. Okay, that happens. But she's tried out for solos over and over again with the same result. Since her freshman year. She has a good singing voice, a solid soprano that's clear and sweet. She's no Kelly Clarkson, but she is certainly as capable as most of the girls who have been awarded solos over the years. The same girls. Over and over and over. The same thing happened-with the same teacher-to Liz. Now Liz is an alto and her singing voice is truly professional. She's been doing that "grown-up" style of singing since she was about eight years old. If I'd been a rabid stage parent type she could have been like Leann Rimes, belting out songs for fame and profit from that stage of her life. This is not her mother posturing, this is fact. She has sung in church and at sundry talent shows...as her mother I do enjoy watching jaws drop when she opens her mouth and starts singing. It's fun to watch and my chest DOES puff out, I'll admit it  But the point here is: her voice was good enough for semi-professional talent shows but not for a high school program?!? EVER?!? I tried not to get really irritated about it, reasoning to her and myself that everyone deserves a shot at the spotlight. But as with Rachael now, we watched the same girls get picked over and over and over again. HUH?!? And it happens in the drama department, too. The same group of kids get chosen from a school that boasts an approximate enrollment of 2400?? Could it be that these are the only talented individuals in the entire school??? Suuure. Rachael is also livid at the speech teacher...you know, the one who fired me (a pox on his house!) She never heard announcements about speech meetings, tournaments, nothing. She went by the man's room several times to inquire and he'd always put her off. Then yesterday she heard RESULTS from this year's regional speech tournament. WHAT?!? I'm getting a picture, here. This man wants who he wants on his speech team, a tight little group of people he's comfortable with who fit his idea of "the good student." I guess my quirky, independent, honor student daughter doesn't fit the mold. He's turned it into a clique. Wonderful. And so I've travelled full circle. No longer do I roll my eyes when I watch The Breakfast Club. Now I'm sad because it rings true to my "paunchy establishment" ears. The truth is; we are ALL the jock, the brain, the princess, the basket case, and the criminal. |
| Cool new heading, doncha think? It pays to have talented friends! Anywho, yesterday's comments to my entry inspired me--dreams and their origins, their meanings, their lives... I believe the vast majority of we who log onto this site are what would be categorized as "dreamers." And who wouldn't want to be in the company of us? After all, it is the "dreamer faction" who created legends upon which we still feast...Dracula, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Cinderella, Snow White, Star Trek... The list could continue until I would be too tired to type. All of these characters/ideas were created by...dreamers. Mary Shelley openly admitted to having fashioned her Frankenstein's Monster character after an actual DREAM. To dream is to realize possibilities that were before unexplored. I think that holds true for both humankind AND individuals.So dreaming is GOOD. Sometimes. When dreams inspire us to ACT, dreaming is wonderful. When dreams give us a map, a compass, a solid distant goal upon which we can base today's actions, dreaming is more than good, it is inspiring, life-giving, essential. Why "sometimes?" Dreams can have an opposite effect. They can stagnate us with their unattainability. They can immobilize us with their beauty. They can keep us from experiencing the "here and now." In those cases, dreams are NOT so good. Reality based on dreams to be realized...I want that. But I'm fighting an uphill battle. Why, you ask? Genetics and learned behavior. I wasn't raised in some sort of "poor me" environment...anything BUT. However, I was raised in an environment of "dreams unrealized," "dreams unattainable," "dreams that will never see fruition because we're all too lame to make it happen." You see, my family is not the kind who blame everyone but themselves for failed dreams. They blame themselves quite easily and far too quickly. Instead, they stagnate, procrastinate, beat themselves with hairshirts and thorned vines while lamenting those failed dreams. ACTION seems to be a dream in itself. So where to go from here? I work through syrupy MUCK to get through all that "hairshirt beating" and actually do those little things, day by day, to make my own dreams come to life, not only for myself, but for my family. I want to prove that it CAN be done! Dreams can be REAL when we work, strive, battle, DEAL WITH REALITY. Wish me luck, as I do you, my fellow dreamers. |
| My dreams... I want to sit at an outdoor cafe` in Paris, sipping an afternoon beverage as I discuss the latest literary "craze" with an informed companion... I want to visit Broadway and take in every show they offer until my eyes glaze over from the bright lights of the stage-which of course means I'm very CLOSE to the stage at every performance ...I want to travel the globe with a backpack and a plan to peruse ancient ruins and great historic monuments. "Write what you know" they always say. I want to know more than what I do. I want to know more than college experience, army life, motherhood, housework. I want to know MORE. I'm forty-one. Is it too late to know more? Am I dreaming dreams that will never become real? Am I wasting away in Dreamville? Or is there hope for me? Will I be able to somehow realize my dreams?? Will I become a published author?!?!? Stay tuned...I know I'm curious... |
| There's been quite a bit written lately about friendships and what exactly is real or not about the ones we establish online. Since I joined this site over a year and a half ago I've felt blessed in so many ways, most especially with the friendships that have become as real to me as the keyboard upon which I type. To be honest, I'm not always the best at establishing and holding onto friends. Here I am an avowed extrovert, but one with some weird sort of "loner" streak. I'm good at reaching out and becoming friends, but the continuation of the relationship, the deepening of the bonds...that's where I seem to fall short. I'm not sure why I've become this way; I wasn't when I was younger. I think perhaps it came upon me gradually as some very close friends let me down in ways that sunk deep. I was pretty naive as a youngster, had to learn the hard way that there are those we trust and those we don't. I'm not bitter about any of my experiences, at least not now. But I was left with a compulsion to back away from seriously personal relationships before anyone got too close. I went through enough angst and drama over failed friendships in my younger days that I didn't want to put myself through that sort of thing again, so barriers were erected. Not high, bitter, brick walls, but picket fences that reach to the waist. I'll shake hands over it, but the fence remains a constant. Enter the internet. Friendly isn't difficult for me, so I became friendly with more than a few fellow WDCers. I think maybe the safety of communicating through a keyboard and monitor speed the process along for me, but "friendly" has translated into "friend" in more than one instance. I have a few close friends that I can see physically, but there aren't any I would count as being more valuable than the ones I've found here. And most of you are so patient with me! I don't see kelly1202 nearly as much as I should, considering we live fifteen minutes apart, but still she considers me the friend I consider her to be, whew!  A solemn thanks to my friend terryjroo for gifting me with two months of upgraded membership! Wow, who could ask for better friends than the ones I've discovered on this fabulous site?!? I don't care if I can't physically see them every day, it's friendship that hums through electronic, phone, and cable lines. Friendships that have become a huge reason for the smile on my face and the spring in my walk. You know who you are. Thank you for being my friends. |
| I'm sort of on track to wellness This pesky cough won't leave me alone and I can't sleep, aargh!!! I told a friend last night that it feels like I'm part of some exotic sleep deprivation torture experiment. I haven't been this sleep deprived since I had a newborn; I can't sleep in a reclining position of any sort or the cough takes over, and have you ever tried to sleep sitting up?! It's doable once you've gone days sleepless, that I know! Anywho, enough about health... Last night was Sarah's first formal dance. She is the daughter who LOVES to dress up and be "girly." Even my other two daughters-who are so NOT girly-relish these formal dances, love to shop for dresses, do their hair, etc. So with THIS child who enjoys that sort of thing all the time, a formal dance is almost nirvana She has spent years watching her sisters get to flit off to formal events, and I always noticed the envy in those big blue eyes--she likes to dress up right along with them and get HER picture taken, too. So yeah, last night was big for her. She shopped with her older sister Rachael last weekend and wore a beautiful blue dress...the silver crutches blended right in! I took her picture and couldn't help staring at her, my "baby." Wow, do they ever grow up fast. She's almost the same height as me now, taller than her shrimpy middle sister, hee hee. WHEN did this child become so grown-up looking?! Where was I when this happened?!? In my mind she's still the youngest "little one," but she doesn't look the part anymore! Even her two older sisters got a bit misty. Liz said, "she's not supposed to be old enough for this stuff, yet!" Sigh, I agree. And my middle daughter is a senior  It seems like a few days ago I took her to kindergarten; she waved to me while walking away, wouldn't even look back. I knew then that she was so tiny but so independant, looking like a three-year-old when she was six but possessing such maturity, such an independant spirit. Sure enough, she's been the one who doesn't march to the tune of any drummer other than her own. She has never buckled to peer pressure of any sort for any reason...there are times when I wish I had her strength of character and will. There are times when I wish she was a little less strong-minded, like when she argues with me about, um, EVERYTHING! She's not one to pass up the opportunity for a good debate A few nights ago she and I attended a meeting for seniors about financial aid for college. I can't believe she's so old. I can't believe she'll be leaving me! Being a parent is a paradox-I've mentioned that before, but it's SO true. I've spent many years looking forward to some time of my own, time to pursue writing the way I want without the constant interruptions. Time to reflect for myself and take up activities I've put aside while parenting takes up the bulk of my life. And now that I can see a horizon in the distance, now that I've done much to encourage my middle daughter to spread her wings and fly, I'm tempted to grab her back from the edge, wrap my arms around her and protest that it's too soon. "It's okay to attend the local community college", I want to say. "Live at home for a few more years, be my kid!" But that's not what's best for her. She's an academic wonder, belongs at a university, surrounded by all the intellectual pursuits that will expand her mind and life. Sniffle. I never thought I'd be one of "those" parents who get all maudlin and mushy about my baby. I will be a mess at commencement in June. Perhaps I should buy stock in the Kleenax corporation. |
| *I do solemnly swear to visit everyone elses' blog before tomorrow. Hereye hereye.* Seriously!!! I've been too sick to live. But I have. I've experienced not ONE, but TWO relapses. This. is. not. fair. But what in life is Everyone else was sick for a bloomin' week and then WELLNESS. But ME??!! Oh NEVER. Because of my asthma and bronchitis, I know, I must endure weeks upon weeks upon weeks of blasted ILLNESS!!! Too bad I'm not one of those who enjoys it. I'm so NOT. Yup, that's how life works. Siiigggh. Anywho, the "cripple" is on the mend. I think I am, but then I was twice before, too. AARRGHH!!!!!  I HATE BEING SICK!!!! It's hard to think about anything else when breathing is a luxury. Dammit.P.s. Forgot to mention that I also have laryngitis. To whomever I could call. I cannot unless you want to assume you've been "cranked called" by a whispering lunatic. |
No, I am not well. Bummer. My nose hurts. It is dry and you know what happens when a nose is very inflamed and very dry. Yuck yuck yuck. I haven't had a nosebleed since 2nd grade...well NOW I have. All night.  I promise I HAVE used saline, but it wasn't enough to prevent my need for a transfusion today--okay, maybe that's a slight bit of overstating the case, but not much! I would feel more sorry for myself if poor PastVoices weren't in worse shape than me *waves of sympathy sent her way* And to anyone else suffering similarly. I HATE BEING SICK!!! It sooo gets in my way!!!!Not only am I a wheezing mess of kleenax, my adorable youngest daughter Sarah...she's a cripple for the time being. YES she's a cheerleader. YES she's a dancer. YES she's a tumbler. But what got her? A set of stairs at her middle school and her own feet. No kidding. She tripped over her own foot, fell, and twisted her ankle. One trip to the ER later--where people gave me a wide berth while I hacked my brains out --she is on crutches. It's a sprain, not too painful, but she's driving me NUTS. She's supposed to stay off it, take it easy, rest it as much as possible. Okay...she's twelve and used to being on the go. I swear that I will soon be stapling her butt to the couch!!!Yup, tons o' fun at my house |
...and I miss it!! Sniffle. I was "on the mend" from that virus for maybe three days, and then BAM! Whatever was left went into my chest and lodged there with extreme stubbornness, prompting me nights of non-stop coughing and a lack of energy that was horrendous. I couldn't sleep for all the barking I've been doing, I couldn't breathe...like some nefarious torture chamber designed by the most cruel biological warmonger!!!  I believe I shall live. I finally slept today, and several breathing treatments have done their job...I can BREATHE!!! You never know how wonderful breathing is until you can't do it. Lungful of air, that's my Utopia Alas, this sort of scenerio is not new to me, been doing "the dance" with my bronchial tubes since I can remember. When I was a teenager and young adult, Drs would glare at me from under glasses and bushy eyebrows, demanding that I 'fess up to smoking...NO I did not! If I had I'd have been passed out on the floor of their offices!! I believe I'm a victim of simple bad genetic roullette AND a father who chain-smoked into my face--blech!Anywho, for now the battle is once again being won for my lungs. I'll catch up AGAIN with everyone else's blogs and lives as soon as I can...looking forward to it! |
| Yesterday was Liz's birthday. She's now 19 years old--YEESH I can remember a time when my children were still small, when I calculated how old I'd be when they were 18...I thought it was forever away. I was wrong! I need to get a scanner so I can share pictures of my kids when they were small. Liz had curly brown hair-lots of it and very thick, and the curls weren't frizzy and small, but in ringlets. I can't tell you how many people would stop me in stores or on the street to ask me if I purposely curled her hair like that...are you kidding?! When I put a BRUSH to her hair she'd scream like I was torturing her with hot wax!! Even with all Liz's mood problems, she's always been such a polite person. This makes me happy, because I have drummed politeness into my kids from the time they could comprehend it. Liz's trouble in school was not usually because of disrespect to teachers or authority. In fact most teachers love her--she simply frustrates the hell outa them because she doesn't do much work after proving how brainy she is. Aargh. And then that last year she didn't GO But back to my original point--when she's not in the throes of that pesky disorder, she's very polite and respectful of adults. Comments from strangers-when she was little-about her hair or her huge, chocolate brown eyes were nice, but the words that stand out most clearly in my memory are the ones about her good manners. One lady at the PX in "K-Town" (Kaiserslautern) stopped me and my cart of toddlers to thank me for making politeness important; she'd heard me lecturing Liz about "how we act" in a store: "It's not a playground" *how many times I spoke those words over the years I should have used a tape recorder for every one of those lectures* It's kind of sad to me that it was so unusual even THEN that it prompted mentioning. And I still fight that battle...of the three, Liz is actually the best about it--you know, when she's not "cycling." Woo is the battle uphill with the youngest! She's my "diva" who rolls those middle school eyes, cocks that cheerleader hip...and has to be brought down a notch or two by her mother, heh heh. Be nice be nice be nice, I spout. Think about how it would feel to be that other person. How do you want to be treated?? This entry was brought on by last week's visit to the 7th grade basketball game. I noticed too many middle schoolers knock into grown-ups, stare at them for a second, and dash off without a word. I watched one girl shrilly demand her mother's attention and money before flitting off with friends. The mom was left holding a large, heavy backpack and coat for her troubles. No thank-you from the girl. It irritates me when I see kids acting so rudely and selfishly. But what irritates me most is knowing that they act this way because the adults in their lives have, with silent acceptance, condoned this behavior. No wonder that in our culture, we now experience "road rage" and teens who shoot each other. It's every man for himself, and we have no one to blame but ourselves, the "establishment" who have permitted youth the luxury of bad manners. Ick. |
| I wasn't given much time in my hometown this Christmas, but still I was struck by memories. Almost four years ago I returned for one of those Class Reunions...you know the kind if you're anywhere close to middle-aged. At 38 I was afforded the "look" at those who remain forever 18 in my mind...one reunion didn't change that. I see them frozen in time, young and anticipating of the future awaiting us all. It was the "boys" who changed most, shocked me with their potbellies and facial hair--who knew they AGE?!? When I see my hometown I see Main Street--my Grandmother lived on that street--where I dragged with my friends for endless hours as a teenager. We listened to Loverboy and Bruce Springsteen on the Tape Player. My mother, Aunt, and brother live on that same street in the same house. I grew up in that house, a product of divorce in a time when divorce wasn't so common. I lied to my grade school friends, told them my dad was a pilot who wasn't home because he flew secret missions. I told them that in the third grade; by fifth they knew the truth. Darn it. The perils of living in a small town Across the street is a "church". I quote that because, to me, it's still the "Ideal Grocery Store." My grandmother went to that store almost every day, bought our yearly Christmas Tree from there. I remember shrinking in embarrassment as she would argue with checkers over prices every single day. Sigh. That was my Grandmother. Mamo. She was something else. Her father died before she was born, when she was swimming in her mother's belly. My great grandmother was standing at the backdoor watching as the thunder hit his farm and lightning struck Frank Hargrove's body. Five months pregnant, she watched the father of her third child die. She had Iva Myrtle, Margaret, and my grandmother four months later, Lillian. Frankie she was called for obvious reasons. She married another man; that's what women did in those days to "get along." In Oklahoma farm country-with three small children-she had little choice. The man turned out to be a lazy sort who drank too much and didn't work too much. Twelve children later my Grandmother was turned out "for hire" in rural Oklahoma, lucky to end up with a nice young family she remained close to for the rest of her life...The Pages. When she was nineteen she met and married my Grandfather, Nelson Funk. He came from a "well-to-do" family in the Oklahoma Panhandle...they owned the local theatres in the area. Some would say she was after security, and sure she was, but my grandfather was a kind man with a gentle heart. He loved my grandmother, he loved his children and his grandchildren. And so did my crusty old grandmother My last wonderful memory of my grandmother, Lillian May Hargrove Funk: Holding the hands of my youngest daughter Sarah at ten months...she toddled through the house in June, 1995...took her first steps at the literal hands of her great grandmother. I go back. Thanks to Kenny Chesney for the lyrics that "say it all" for me, takes me back to a time when all I thought about was the song on the radio: "Jack and Diane" painted a picture of my life and my dreams, Suddenly this crazy world made more sense to me Well I heard it today and I couldn't help but sing along Cause everytime I hear that song... I go back to a two toned short bed Chevy Drivin my first love out to the levvy Livin life with no sense of time And I go back to the feel of a fifty yard line A blanket, a girl, some raspberry wine Wishin time would stop right in its tracks Everytime I hear that song, I go back I used to rock all night long to "Keep On Rockin Me Baby" Frat parties, college bars, just tryin to impress the ladies I heard it today and I couldn't help but sing along Cause everytime I hear that song.... I go back to the smell of an old gym floor The taste of salt on the Carolina shore After graduation and drinkin goodbye to friends And I go back to watchin summer fade to fall Growin up too fast and I do recall Wishin time would stop right in its tracks Everytime I hear that song, I go back, I go back We all have a song that somehow stamped our lives Takes us to another place and time So I go back to a pew,preacher, and a choir Singin bout God, brimstone, and fire And the smell of Sunday chicken after church And I go back to the loss of a real good friend And the sixteen summers I shared with him Now "Only The Good Die Young" stops me in my tracks Everytime I hear that song, I go back.... To the feel of a fifty yard line A blanket, a girl, some raspberry wine I go back.... To watchin summer fade to fall Growin up too fast and I do recall... I go back.... To the loss of a real good friend And the sixteen summers I shared with him... I go back... I go back... I go back |
| AND I'M GONNA LIVE!!! Heh heh, I've been absent from this lovely site due to illness. My aunt in Oklahoma was sick when we got there and "so kindly" shared the wealth with us Liz was sick on the way home but quickly recouped--hating her. Rachael and I-the asthma twins-were hit hardest, as usual. I was so sick on New Year's Eve that I actually remember very little of it. My kids cooked and enjoyed themselves while I languished in a stupor on the couch. Yay 2007. I MUST thank all those on the Angel Team who gifted me with an upgrade during my absence...thank you so humbly. When I can I plan to gift the Angels myself so that others can benefit the way I did. It is because of them that I'm able to update my blog!!! Liz is okay. Not great, but okay. She's back in her "comfort zone" which is always important to the unstable bipolar. She's taking her meds-upped dosages-and staying off what she shouldn't have, for now anyway. Thank God she has been all right since I've been so sick. Her psych finally gave me some names of places I can call that might take her on a residential basis, what she needs right now before even a group home. She needs to "get right" with herself, something she's just not, and no med will do that. So here's hoping we can find a place that will take her and that she'll be open enough to it that it'll actually HELP. It's the "comfort zone" issue that makes the idea of residential treatment so hard for her. She'll get over it if we can talk her into going. So I'll work to catch up on everyone's lives and blogs and e-mails...I feel GREAT...nothing like wellness after sickness |
| Holiday that inspired Nightmare Before Christmas. I apologize to all I'd pledged to visit. It wasn't in the cards. Liz cycled manic in St Louis and had an enormous temper explosion in Oklahoma. She should have been in the hospital, wasn't because of the holiday. I'm tired. |
| I listened to Billy Joel's Downeaster Alexa and I could swear I smelled the salt water from the Bay. I could see swirling masses of dark clouds overhead, could feel wind whipping at a raincoat, yellow and slick with seasalt spray. I saw gulls diving in and out of churning murky water, vying for water space with violently bouncing fishing boats. The boats were old but obviously sturdy, the fishermen manning them even sturdier. I stood on a dock I've never seen, smelled ocean life I've never smelled. Summer Highland Falls isn't such a well known song, but it speaks to me. All his music does. "...we are forced to recognize our inhumanity; our reason co-exists with our insanity..." And perhaps my favorite line in the song: "How thoughtlessly we dissipate our energies..." No kidding. I wrote last night, in my notebook. It's a short story--or it will be. And my brain is churning like the water in Billy's bay, the one in Long Island. I've never been there but I have. The words and music leak New York, make me miss a place I've never been. Here it is, the now-famous New York State of Mind. It made me think of a certain Long Islander I like almost as much as Billy Some folks like to get away, take a holiday from the neighborhood Hop a flight to Miami Beach or Hollywood. I'm taking a Greyhound on the Hudson River line- I'm in a New York state of mind. I seen all the movie stars in their fancy cars and their limousines, Been high in the Rockies under the evergreens, But I know what I'm needing and I don't want to waste more time- I'm in a New York state of mind. It was so easy living day by day Out of touch with the rhythm and the blues, But now I need a little give and take, The New York Times, the Daily News... It comes down to reality-and it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide, Don't care if it's Chinatown or Riverside, I don't have any reasons, I've left them all behind- I'm in a New York state of mind. I'm just taking a Greyhound on the Hudson River line- 'Cause I'm in a New York state of mind. |
| When all my kids were in school and I was working a night job, going to school myself, and also working afternoons as an asst. speech and debate coach, I was in my element. I was too busy to breathe but that's how I like it. And I wrote like someone possessed, churning out short stories, essays, school assignments, you name it. I crammed more into one day than I currently do in a week Since life has altered for me, slowed down to what seems like a pace slower than that slug who recently passed me by, it feels like my brain has shut down. Every day I seem to churn out thoughts more slowly, less articulately. I can literally feel my brain cells scream in agony as they seep through my ears. I haven't written fiction since last July. I'm freelance writing articles for that ad magazine, it's not like I'm doing nothing writing-wise, but I've learned something about myself. I always thought there was a frustrated journalist inside me, but I don't think so anymore. I enjoy learning something new from those I interview for the stories, but the actual writing leaves me flat. I know it's an ad magazine and not quite the same as writing for, say, a newspaper, but it's still article-writing and I've learned it's not my favorite. Strange for me to realize, but true. When I was young I wrote for my high school paper and then my college paper. I remember loving every minute of it. I still wrote fiction back then, too, but I didn't focus on it like I do now. Somewhere along the way I changed. I don't want to write articles. I want to write stories. And I like to write about my opinions, the whys of my opinions--editorials and blogs, I guess you could say My method of writing has had to change. When I was young I always wrote with a notebook and a pen, how else could we do it? I typed stories and articles only after they'd been written in my trusty notebook, complete with pen slashes, words arrowed in, and paragraphs lined through or added with a seperate piece of paper...it always looked like a mess, but I knew what I meant and where it all should go. The way I think as I write has altered with technology. After I acquired a laptop, I carried it with me everywhere, wrote when I could, and allowed IT to slash what I didn't want with the flick of a "delete" button. Over the years, for some reason, I became dependant on it. My brain's creativity would switch to "on" when that laptop lid was raised, then go into "sleep" mode when it closed. And then the worst. My laptop doesn't work so well anymore. Half the keys don't function, some of them type different symbols and letters than they're supposed to, and it's a Dell, which means if I want the keyboard to be fixed I have to send it away. Good grief I have three kids who all vie for computer time with our desktop, two who need it for homework. It's not like I could carry the desktop around with me, anyway, and I've discovered that trying to find my creative core while I'm sitting at this desk, surrounded by everything I'm supposed to do-like dishes and laundry -is like looking for my leaking brain cells. Elusive.So. I open a spiral notebook recently purchased from Target, click my pen, and try to remember what is was to create without word processing. I close my eyes and dive deep into my rusty thinking mechanism, rummage around for ideas and information I know got hidden in there somewhere. I look forward to going back to school in January (thank GOD), getting a job, taking back my life. I look forward to getting that laptop fixed. But for now I'm relearning the pen-to-paper thing...and wadding cotton in my ears to prevent anymore leakage. |
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