Once a Mother, Always a Mother

I miss my children. It’s not the miles (we live across the country from each other), but it’s the passage of years. I am proud of them both. They’ve made good lives for themselves, with jobs and partners and children of their own. They have grown up to be what I had wished for them: responsible, independent, compassionate people.

But lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about those years when they were young. (And I was younger, but that’s not the point.) Looking back over all those years, it’s like a slideshow in my mind. Flickering images, passing in succession, of babies and toddlers and tweens and teens. I have come to realize that I loved every moment with them. I’d like to be able to relive some of that, to have a second chance to enjoy all those “firsts” for those new beings.

I had only the first 3 days of my eldest child’s life as I gave her up for adoption. While that was a hard decision, I have never doubted it, have always known that it was the best thing for her–even if it wasn’t what I would have wanted for me. But my circumstances were such that I was not able to have a child in my life at that time. I am still in contact and I am happy to report that her mother did a great job–I’m also very proud of her and her accomplishments.

W, my son, was born in the year of the Texas sesquicentennial (150 years) of statehood and the 100th anniversary of the Statue of Liberty. I was 8 months pregnant with him when I watched Challenger blow up. Ronald Reagan was in the White House. We were listening to “That’s What Friends Are For”, “Addicted to Love”, “Rock Me Amadeus” and Prince was giving us a “Kiss”.

Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos had fled the Philippines, leaving her thousands of shoes behind. 1986 was the year of the nuclear accident at Chernobyl, Chicago won the Superbowl and the Mets were the World Champions. Science was giving us the first Hep B vaccine and superconductivity; Voyager passed Jupiter and sent back photos that answered some of our questions about it. Fox channel was born on our TV and Oprah had her show.

I was busy with more important things. W was born at the end of March. I watched him lift his head and turn it over while in his layette at the hospital. His father and I took him home and began our life as a family (not just a couple). Because I breastfed him, we had a lot of “face” time. I talked to him and sang to him–not unlike the mariachi bands that wander through the Mexican restaurants while you’re trying to eat. There were so many firsts, those remarkable moments of new actions, new abilities. His first smile was wonderful, all gums and happiness.

Now, looking back, it seems like the time went by like lightning…a flickering moment and then on to something else that was new. He learned to drink from a straw. He tasted strawberry jam for the first time. He laughed, that deep and wonderful belly laugh that only babies have. He went to Mother’s Day out, leaving the house as it had always been and then coming home to an empty house; then he crawled all over, looking for our things. He (and I) lived with his great-grandparents for several months until we left for Germany. His first Christmas filled the floor with presents from the grandparents / great-grandparents. He preferred his father’s optic orange golf ball.

He got a stuffed animal for his 2nd birthday, a duck we named George. W still has George and he still sleeps on W’s bed. Apparently his wife cuddled with George when he was on sea duty. He would take all of the toys out of the footlocker (toy box) and then climb in his…boat? Spaceship? Maybe it was his car… He had a toy phone and he would hold it up to his ear and hold a conversation–complete with pauses while the “other person” was speaking. He was a loving baby, happy to get hugs and kisses, which he learned to return with great enthusiasm. There was a certain feeling of awe to realize that I was the center of his Universe–at least for the first couple of years.

His sister (L) was born in 1988, when W was 2.5 years old. That was the year George Michael sang about his “Faith” and it was the first time we were Rick Rolled. (We didn’t even know that was what happened, those first few times of hearing Rick Astley singing.) And we all knew the words to Bobby McFerrin’s song…”Don’t Worry, Be Happy”. Reagan was still President. Pan-Am flight 103 exploded from a bomb, to crash in Lockerbie, Scotland. Benazir Bhutto was elected as the first Islamic woman to be Prime Minister in Pakistan; she said of her two terms in that position: “The government I led gave ordinary people peace, security, dignity, and opportunity to progress.”

Michael Dukakis and Lloyd Bentsen were the candidates for the Democrats; George Bush and Daniel Quayle were the GOP’s choice. Washington won the Superbowl; LA Dodgers were the World Series winners. CDs were outselling vinyl and Ted Turner created his own TV station. “The Last Emperor” won the Oscar for Best Picture. Oh, and the US Navy shot down an Iranian airliner after mistaking it for a jet fighter.

L was born in the middle of November, just in time to get Christmas presents that year. She was also born in Augsburg, Germany. The first stuffed animal she was given was from her father and brother–a little orange tabby kitten. Last I heard, L still has it.

Each of my pregnancies were different except for the morning sickness that lasted all day. This time, with L, I had a toddler to chase after and couldn’t just sit quietly, hoping for the queasiness to pass. By the time I was about 6 months along, poor little guy had to climb the four floors up to our apartment by himself. I wasn’t able to balance him and my tummy without feeling like we’d all go rolling down. The only question he asked me about the sibling that was coming along was “how does the baby get out?”. Whew. Missed the big one, “how did the baby GET IN?”

I announced this pregnancy to my grandparents (the “greats” for my kids) when I told my grandmother that I could not come to the US for their 50th wedding anniversary because the airline wouldn’t let me fly with a newborn. Instead, they came to Germany for Christmas and New Year’s. It was the first time they had ever been out of the US.

I got to see my children interact with my grandparents–the youngest and the oldest of the family. My grandfather took out his dentures to show W–who promptly ran to me and held on. I guess he thought he’d get bitten. For various reasons, I was bottle-feeding L and it has been a cherished memory, the sight of Grandmom, holding her and feeding her.

W took his position as the older brother seriously and was always helpful–bringing me diapers or a burp rag. He was always gentle with her and I enjoyed watching the two of them, learning about each other. BUT! L’s personality was already manifesting itself: she could be extremely vocal about the things she wanted (even if it only was in baby-babble) and I told her father that one day, our child would come running into the room, crying and saying, “SHE hit me!”. (I was not wrong.)

As a stay-at-home Mom (SAHM, so I’ve heard is the acronym), my world revolved around my children. Taking care of them (and their environment) was a major priority. I wasn’t chained to them, there were no bad feelings about being at home. As a matter of fact, I thoroughly took pleasure and joy in being with them, in the daily routine. And a daily routine with a baby and a toddler is a study in changes and discovery. (I don’t mean diaper changes, although we had those, too.)

I tried to mark in my own mind each of the many milestones, for both of them. The first food, the first drinking from a cup, the first step…so many “firsts” it could be overwhelming. I’d be marveling at one and then BOOM! We’d have another. Even the “firsts” I had had with W were different than those same things with L. And I loved every minute of it.

The whole world takes on a new, lustrous and exciting feel when you are seeing it through the eyes of a child. Even explaining and talking about the mundane things they were doing, I knew that “mundane” was my word and “wowee” was theirs. I took the time to explore their world as they explored this big world they were living in. The trees are a little taller, the grass a little greener, the dog or cat a little fluffier and softer.

As time passed (as it is wont to do), the “first” events slowed down a bit. I had a chance to really savor it and even catch my breath before the next one came along. L was my dramatic child. Supporting evidence: she was in the high chair, W and his friend were seated on the bench and W says to me, “Mommy, (L)’s face is blue.” Mommy went into freak out mode because when I looked at her, by the gods, she was blue. A blue that no human face should ever be. I pulled her out of the high chair and that action knocked the food loose so that by the time she was in my arms, she was breathing again.

She wasn’t done with us and high excitement. Not too long after the high chair episode, she was coughing and hacking around the house. Friday afternoon, of course. Did I mention we were living in Germany and had military healthcare? No appointments over the weekend. So her father and I both agreed we would be taking her first thing Monday morning. That apparently did not meet with her agenda… I was downstairs at the neighbor’s house when the husband knocked on the door, holding L. “You need to go back upstairs to be with W. I’m taking her to the ER. I was changing her diaper and she stopped breathing. I had to resuscitate her.”

These are not words you ever want to hear. The wait was horrendous. Husband came home, without L, about 10 pm. The hospital had done an xray of her esophagus. If this (      ) is the normal esophagus, hers was like this (XX|XX) where the “|” is the actual opening for air. No wonder she was not breathing well. Turned out, she had the croup. Poor baby got shots in her thighs every 6 or 8 hours…and the medical team had asked her father to help hold her down for the first couple. When I went to see her, she very pointedly refused to look at her father. I think I lost some popularity when I didn’t grab her up and take her home. Scary, scary times for a mom (and a dad).

It’s not like W didn’t have excitement. No, his was of a different style. When they were tweens, we accompanied their father to an office party at the boss’ house. There was an above ground pool. It is pertinent to the story to understand that in this circular pool, in the center, there was a slight dip so that all the dirt would collect in that one place. My son dove in and found himself standing within that dip. It made the water just *that* much too deep for him. I saw him, thought he was play-bobbing up and down and then I realized that he was in danger. It’s true: people who are drowning are NOT yelling for help. Their arms go out, up to shoulder height and they spend all their energy trying to catch a breath. I had a glass glass in my hand and didn’t want to drop it (making another hazard) and by the time I found a place to set it down, I heard a splash. Husband had gone into the pool (clothes, watch, wallet and all) and got W out of the water. Let’s just say that W didn’t dive in again and it took a while before he got back into the water.

I know it sounds melodramatic, but…except for the quick response of their father, there would be a very good chance that both of my children would be dead. And that thought still makes me shudder. I don’t want those scary times. But you don’t always get what you want…

At 14, L broke her arm, rollerblading. When he was about 3, W fell and cut the skin on his forehead/hairline. Head wounds bleed a lot, but a simple butterfly bandage fixed him up, no problem. I don’t remember any other medical emergencies, so I guess we were blessed with reasonably good health and a bare minimum of dramatic sickness or injury.

W went to Kindergarten and I had two school years of having just one child at home all day.  Then it was her turn and L went off to get some edumacation, too. For the first time in 7 years, I had days of being “single” again. Odd feeling and I got a lot of reading done. And handicrafts. And I could grocery shop without threatening my offspring for getting away from me. Or having to explain 469,756 times why I was not buying (X). I missed them.

Christmas time was always fun. I decorated our house and as the lights went up on the other houses, we’d ride around at night time and “ohh” and “ahh” over them. When they were little, we had some serious discussions about what they would like Santa to bring. The ToyRUs catalog would arrive and they both did the “I want this…and this…and this…and this”–you get the idea. So I would ask them the Big Question: “If Santa could only bring you ONE present, what would you really, really want to have?” They generally got whatever that one thing was–and Santa did bring some other things, too. But Christmas morning, Santa’s presents were always wrapped in Santa paper. The other gifts were from Mom and Dad. (And then we’d go over to the husband’s parents house for Christmas with the whole family. And when I say whole, I mean siblings and their spouses and children as they came along…and considering the number of siblings was 7…lots of family!)

We’d let them stay up long enough to see the ball drop on New Year’s Eve. There were a number of years where they didn’t manage it and had to be carried to bed. The Easter Rabbit hid eggs and treats all over the house. (I didn’t want to encourage animals coming along and eating them.) One year, he left plastic eggs with hints left in them–and when they got to the end of the treasure hunt, there was one special gift for each of them. (Actually two hunts, if I’m remembering right–one for L and one for W.) Halloween was also celebrated and one year I made their costumes–Robin Hood for W and Maid Marian for L. They were adorable. But the amount of work was too much to try and repeat it–and they were happy with the Power Rangers costumes from the Halloween section of Party City.

We had one Halloween tradition that saved them from sugar comas. Keep in mind that we lived on a street that had other children, and they were allowed to go around the block and across the streeet, around the block. So that’s about 40-ish houses. Once they had gotten their loot, they brought it home and we dumped it out to make sure there were no razor blades. Then I would have them pick out the ones that they only had singletons of, as well as the candies that were their particular favorites. These candies (probably 25% of their take) went back into their bags and no one else ate them. The remaining pounds of candy (not kidding!) would go into my 26 cup Tupperware bowl…and fill it to brimming. Anyone could eat out of that. While their bag had candies, our tradition was that they could eat all the candy they wanted for 20 minutes. Then they had to go brush their teeth…not quite 20 minutes, but certainly enough to get the sugar coating off! Sometimes that might mean just 1 candy–something larger, or a lollipop that was to be sucked on.

And I had candies to nibble on for the next month. (They nibbled, too…but you know what I mean!)

They played tee ball; W went on to play on a team but L decided that baseball was not her thing. They learned to ride bikes, rollerblade, swim (not just walk into the water and get wet–or dive in). They went fishing at the family cottage near Dundee in the Finger Lakes. When we visited my family in Baltimore, they went to the National Aquarium and the Science Center in the Inner Harbor. (L tried to jump into the beluga whale tank. She is and was always a Water Baby, like her mother and her great-grandmother.)
(Ed. note: Here is the story, “Water Baby” , which is where I got that term)

We only had one computer, back in the “old days”. Which saved me from having to buy TWO computers and never seeing the kids because they’d be up in their rooms, surfing the Net. Nope, we had one, and it sat in the corner of the kitchen. I could keep an eye on them and they could go pretty much wherever they wanted–and there were sites that wanted a parent’s “signature” to ensure that the child was allowed there. The three of us learned about Internet research–and Google, when it came along. I answered all of their questions, but when I didn’t know the answer, the 3 of us would go on the computer and find it. They weren’t the only one who was learning new things!

We started getting the Nintendo gaming consoles, starting with the SuperNES and Mario. All 3 of us played–my time was mostly at night, once the kids were in bed. And if it was a rainy day, I’d let them play most of the day…but on nice (not raining, maybe even some sunshine) days, I’d let them play for a couple of hours. Then I’d say, “It’s time to quit and save!” — and I always got the cry of “Mooooom, it’s SAVE and quit!!” And back in those days, I could rent the games for a week–and sometimes, if the game was involved enough…I’d spend most of my free time playing.

When they were tweens, their father and I split up. (It took 3 YEARS to get the final decree, but that’s another story.) I moved out and took them with me, getting an apartment about 20 miles away from our old home. I was working nights, so I’d get home after they had left for school. I’d sleep until they came home. Then we’d spend a couple of hours together, have dinner–and I’d go back to bed for a 2 hour nap. I discovered that I couldn’t sleep for 8 hours, be up with them and then try to work an 8 hour shift. I needed the psychological effect of getting up and going to work. (Even if it was just a nap.)

They were good kids, taking care of each other and not having *too* many fights. Then I was invited to share my friend’s house and get a (better) job in VA. That was well out of the range that I could take the kids. It was a tough, tough, tough decision. But I finally figured that if I could get myself in a better place, I would be a better mom for them. So I left them, living back in the house with their father. It was only 8 months before he allowed them to move back with me. Rather, I should say, that he asked the children if they’d like to live with me and he barely got the question out of his mouth before they were both saying “YES!”.

So South they came. We lived with my friend, her 2 kids, her boyfriend and his 2 kids and then me and my 2 kids. We counted 11 people for Christmas (boyfriend’s ex-wife and mother of his kids and a friend from work with no family in the area). We couldn’t afford to buy presents for everyone…or so we thought. My friend came up with a brilliant idea and I pass it on to those of you who find it helpful. We loaded up everyone and went to the local Dollar Store. We bought 11 big gift bags and everyone split up to go into different aisles. The idea was that each person would buy one thing for each of the others–and so in the end, we each had 11 presents to open.

Eventually the three of us moved out of the commune (haha) and got our own apartment. I got a new job (I had been working at a place called Dominion, making flash memory) at the local assisted living center. I started courses on Network Security and Administration. One of my fellow students suggested trying for a job at the place he was working. I did, and thus began my tenure as a Customer Service Rep, making reservations for teleconferences. I left for about 18 months to work at the help desk of a company that was contracted to provide computer support for Congress. There was no place to move up, and so I returned to being a CSR at the same company. I had not burned any bridges when I left.

The kids continued growing up and it seemed like it had only been a few days before that they were being born and being toddlers… They both participated in the Junior ROTC program at school; they were both actors in several of the school’s plays. W actually got the high school version of an Oscar nomination for his portrayal of Modred, King Arthur’s nephew (and son) in the musical, “Camelot”. L got her starring chance in her senior year with “The Hound of the Baskervilles”.

In the twinkling of the eye, in the space of time for one breath…they went from helpless, wide-eyed newborns to being teenagers and on the verge of going out into the big wide world on their own. I loved every stage. I was and still am grateful for the discoveries we made together. I was the best Mom I knew how to be and I must have succeeded because my two wee ones are all grown up now, with wee ones of their own. And I look into the face of my daughter’s older daughter … and see my daughter there. I can do the same with my son’s son. Both of those grandchildren have a younger sister. I am blessed with a foursome of proof that I did a good enough job that my kids were willing to try that role for themselves.

And yet I still miss my own little ones. Even the throw-up and backtalk and bickering between them. I’d like to go back in time and visit them again–and I’ve found a way to do that. I simply close my eyes and let the images scroll through my mind. My son. My daughter. And the 20 years that flew past like an express train. They were both very good children. They are both very good parents. I can only wish them the same joy with their children as I had with them.

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The Only Constancy is Change

Let’s see if I can do this more or less chronologically.

Went to see the headshrinker AND my PCP in Fredericksburg on September 11.  (Note: while I was not old enough to actually BE a hippie, I am a product of the drug era.  When I hear PCP, I immediately think about the stuff they used to lace pot with…not Primary Care Physician.)  The psychiatrist was a nice but nervous man.  We discussed my issues and he prescribed the full dose of Efexor I’d be on and refilled the clonazepam.  Still think I should (eventually) get that changed because I STILL don’t think it does that much.

My PCP walked in and it was like…a completely different doctor.  I suspect a bit of an ass reaming about the massive med changes he had made.  He was pleasant, he smiled, he LISTENED to us (this time) and expressed his anger at having his direct order to have me admitted to Richmond for psych eval “over-ridden” by “someone”.  He got to see the psych notes (apparently I was not allowed?  Or maybe they just weren’t entered before I was kicked out) and didn’t understand why I had been discharged literally within hours of getting there.  (Rather than the normal 24-48 hour evaluation period.)  That was an interesting piece of news and he also indicated that the drugs I was given in Richmond were actually prescribed by the staff psychiatrist.  So I really have NO idea who the guy in the blue scrubs that grilled me about being in their ER was.  No name, no way of filing a formal complaint.  Oh well.

So anyways, we talked with the doctor and guess what?  He ended up doing what we had asked for, 2 1/2 months prior: gave me my Vicodin, acknowledged Beloved’s wisdom in cutting my neurontin dose ummm in half of what he had prescribed.  (Beloved had told the nurse what drugs I had stopped taking, what dosages I was taking — and was told that the doctor was unhappy that he had not “consulted” with them before making those changes.  He is very smug to have been right…as he should be.)  We talked about the move, he said I can call in my next appointment in October and all was happy happy joy joy.

Well, except for this: I had gotten my fasting blood sugar test (finally) done.  The nurse called us about 2 days later to say that I had an A1C of 6.4.  Now when Beloved told me that, my first thought was “A1C?  Airman First Class?  WTF?”  But that’s the technical term for that particular blood test.  Over a 7 scored and you’re diabetic.  Anything below 6 is normal.  Between 6 and 7, you’re “pre-diabetic”.  So I am officially pre-diabetic.  No finger sticks, no insulin yet.  Just watch the diet, try to exercise.  Stuff we’re going to do anyways.  And probably a fasting blood sugar test done at least once a year, maybe twice to keep tabs on it.  Not really surprising, as geriatric onset diabetes (Type 2) runs in the family, from both sides.  And I could linger at that 6.4 for as long as the rest of my life, if I really do manage it with diet.  My grandfather, while actually diabetic, did manage his with diet.  His son, my father, has to do the multiple finger sticks and takes insulin, but is also on VA healthcare because of his exposure to Agent Orange.  So his may be worse because of that; no way to ever know.

We’re not getting a lot done in the way of actually packing or getting rid of stuff for our move.  We’ve got the suitcases and carry on luggage now–Pelican cases for anyone who knows what they are.  Look it up, for those who don’t.  Beloved’s parents are taking a lot of our furniture (they are also moving, this upcoming weekend) because they will be in a smaller place and our furniture was bought specifically to fit within a smaller apartment.  Once that is out of the house, it will be easier to go through our stuff.  Or at least that’s what we keep telling each other.  I am feeling very overwhelmed but I always do, and I HATE to move…and I do some of my best work at the last minute.

My in-laws bought me some clothes.  My mother-in-law knows that the way you dress affects the way you feel and I have not been dressing like I feel very good.  It’s a sign of illness when an animal stops grooming itself, and frankly, humans are no different.  So I found clothing that I chose specifically with an eye towards the weather in Eureka (able to be layered, sweat pants, that sort of thing) from a place called “The Woman Within”.  They have a website and they also do catalog sales.  Except for the two sweat pants / matching tops sets, everything is 100% cotton.  (Sweats are 60-40 cotton-polyester.)  I had to watch the sizes carefully as I have lost 2 inches of height somewhere along the way (degenerative arthritis in the spine will do that, you know) and now I have to shop in the “Petite” section.  Sigh.  I got 2 turtlenecks, 2 sleeveless t-shirts (shells), a v-neck, short sleeved t-shirt, 2 skirts and the aforementioned 2 sweats sets–and I don’t know how much the shipping and handling added, but the merchandise added up to just at $125.  Not bad.  If you’re looking for clothing that real women wear (not designer, let me tell you), then I’d recommend them.  Usual prices aren’t bad, and a lot of what I got was on sale for less than some of the thrift store clothing I’ve bought.

We’ve spent big portions of September either recuperating from the various hospital trips, or going to see someone’s doctor and having to recuperate from that.  We spent a great deal of today making phone calls and getting things done.  And in the course of that, we’ve had more good news in a single go than I think we’ve had in quite a while.  While I’m happy about that, remember: distress or eustress, it’s all still stress.  So it was overwhelming for both of us.

I spoke to the company that manages my LTD (Long Term Disability) benefits with some questions I have had…turns out that fibromyalgia is NOT limited by the policy that my former employer had with this company at the time of my disability.  Which means that there is no limit of just 2 years for pay out.  In fact, they can end up paying me for another 15 years, or until I turn 67 and would “retire” anyways.  WOW.  Income, steady income for the next 15 years.  As long as my primary diagnosis remains fibro (and it will, it’s not going away) and my doctor keeps me on medical treatment for it.  And that will also remain permanent, since the pain won’t go away without narcotics.  And the insurance company’s “Any Occupation” review board (as opposed the medical board that reviews the doctor’s notes) will determine whether I can work in any occupation (hence the name) besides the one I was in when I became disabled.  And since I am on narcotics (and barely drive any more), who is going to hire me?  No one, that’s who.  I will just have to be careful to have the doctor document fibro stuff every time I go see him and the fact that I am *still* not able to hold down any meaningful job due to the limitations of fibro and the meds I am on for it.

I spoke to the airline and found out how to get handicapped assistance from curb to gate (both ways) when we fly out.  Easier than I thought, and the agent I spoke to was pleasant and helpful.  Checked the airline’s website and determined that medical equipment (read: canes and CPAP machines) do NOT count as carry on luggage and will be allowed on board in addition to our bags and carry ons.  YAY!

I got an answer from the minister at the Humboldt UU fellowship, replying to the email I sent yesterday.  I explained what was going on, who we were, and so on…  Always good to have people waiting to greet you in a new place if you can and we are really looking forward to attending services there.

Beloved made his own phone calls as well.  Found out that the utility deposits in CA are not going to be completely onerous (well, except for AT&T landline/DSL which requires their money upfront) and will be on the first bill.  Found out that CA is VERY generous in Social Services (which I think we will qualify for, and with the letter from VA, may not require the year’s wait for those services to kick in).  They have SSI AND something called “SSP” which, if we are eligible, could add quite a lot to our income.  If we get both of those, we may not then qualify for CA Fresh (their version of SNAP), but hey, we’d have enough extra money to afford our food.  Also, they figure eligibility differently than VA, removing rent and utilities from the income amount–which may also then put Beloved back into being eligible for Medicaid.  THAT would be a great blessing, since we’re both a bit concerned about his lack of insurance at this time, with no coverage until Medicare kicks in NEXT August.

He also made a call to our cell phone carrier and FINALLY got the 3-4 year old SNAFU figured out and straightened out.  Got us $80 credit for a line that we had tried to turn off like a year ago–but had somehow become the “primary” line and couldn’t be shut off…so we’ve been paying like $40 a month more for that line all this time.  Not as much as one could hope for, but way better than NO refund.  And part of clearing it up and getting things correct included changing his phone number–so the lucky duck already has his Eureka telephone number!  I’m mildly jealous, but not enough to merit changing MY phone number with the bazillions of people who have it and with whom I MUST stay in touch, for emotional or financial reasons.  Bad enough I’m going to have to do it eventually, and sooner rather than later.

And I actually cooked dinner for us.  It’s kind of sad that I have to admit said accomplishment is a major one for me.  I have not yet made it into the kitchen and whipped it back into shape…it’s winning the war of wills at this point.  I do have a deadline of sorts: my in-laws are also taking some of our kitchen appliances, and that means I have to wash and ready them for departure when the furniture goes.  Which means, I hope, that I will be forced to organize the modern art display of carefully stacked dishes into a real STACK of dishes, not an artistic arrangement that could be sent crashing down with just one nudge on the wrong piece.  Which, if all goes well, will then lend itself to at least being rinsed in the dishwasher (that for some reason, even though it is brand new, still does NOT actually wash the dishes clean).

We’re going to a friend’s house for their “we got married in CA and you couldn’t be there” party on Saturday.  And Sunday, if he got permission (from the Navy), my son and his family–or just the family if he didn’t–will come over for a little bit so that I can see them before we go West.  They will also be taking some things back home with them.  Jay, tell them what prizes they have won.  Well, Bob, they’ll be taking home this box of Legos!  (Most of them were mine, some of them were my son’s and he’d be glad to have them back.)  I am also going to let my daughter-in-law pick and choose through the kitchen stuff I won’t be taking…things like the really huge Tupperware bowl, crystal bowls from Germany, etc.

My daughter will be coming down one Tuesday (her normal day off) to see us before we leave.  No granddaughters, but really, we’re not set up for it and this way, we’ll all be able to talk without chasing the toddler or dealing with a crying baby.  She promises me lots of pictures and I keep poking her about getting Skype.  So that’s one area of stress that has been relieved and I’m very glad that it has.

I’m also getting polite and chatty emails from my mother–and as long as they stay that way, without politics or religion…we’ll keep talking.  Another source of stress, dismissed.

Now if the house would just empty itself and my suitcase pack things up without my actually having to do anything.  I am clenching my teeth a lot, mostly from the stress–which ends up giving me headaches.  Not helpful.  By my latest assessment, I need to: empty out my jewelry armoire, sorting out what I want to keep from what I will give away; sort my clothes into going and going to the thrift store.  AND I need to go through every box that holds my shite and sort it out: trash, give away, sell, take.  Oh gods, if I keep listing things I shall go mad.  One thing at a time, one step at a time.  It’s really all I can do.

Oh, and we bought the tickets.  So come hell or high water, clean apartment or not, with or without all that shite being done…we are leaving on November 1.  Flying first class (wowee!!) to Sacramento.  ANOTHER source of stress…gone.  And that was a major one, so I am very glad to actually have them in hand, so to speak.  And we’ve got the handicap assistance set up, so I won’t have to call the nice lady back.  That works for me.

Looks like the light at the end of the tunnel is NOT an oncoming train, but really the other end of the tunnel.  Dear gods, I hope so.  The ride has been a lot more than I bargained for, and way more than I ever wanted.  Or as the meme I saw today said, “I don’t just ride the crazy train, I motherfucking drive it!”.

Our life has been on hold, for health reasons, for money reasons, for time reasons.  And frankly, it’s still on hold until November 1, when I step off the plane in CA.  Or maybe Nov 2, when we actually get into Eureka and can put our toes into the Pacific Ocean.  I am looking forward to that life very much and I will do whatever it takes to get there.  Now if I could just figure out some way to take all our friends and family with us, it would be perfect…but that’s just my “how life is supposed to be” talking, and that is apparently what I’m supposed to be letting go of now.  (Having learned about letting go of things, and of words…)

I am cautiously optimistic, preferring to keep some little piece of hesitancy just in case (because “just in case” has happened way too many times in the past few years to be ignored).  But I will acknowledge that things in general seem to be…going in a direction that leads directly West.  Which is where we want to be.

Namaste!

Family, Illness, Fear and Loathing in My Own Life

So this begins with a series of email my mother sent me, emails of political or religious nature; her views and mine do not agree and so after receiving “one more” emotionally inflammatory and incorrect email, I send this as part of my email to her: “If you do not know for yourself that what you send me is true, please don’t send it.  I have an Internet connection and in about 10 minutes, I will have checked it on snopes.com for blatant lies and then sought out reputable (and not paid for by the Koch Brothers or their ilk) sources for the questionable stuff.  You can thank my husband for my new political awareness but can only blame yourself for my inability to swallow horse manure.  Especially when it’s delivered in such grand, large portions.

Republicans AND Democrats will lie to the public.  I acknowledge this, which is why I get most of my news from the UK, Reuters or Al-Jazheera.  Most politicians no longer represent their constituency; they serve corporate masters.  Frankly, the Republicans win the prize for the most blatant disregard of the people they are supposed to be serving (See: OH, NC and TX, and their questionable actions in bringing in some of the most stringent, draconian anti-abortion laws, in direct challenge to Roe v. Wade).  And if you think Mr. Obama hasn’t done what he should have in 6 years, you can blame that on the intransigent, intractable, immovable Republicans in the Congress.  ”

We had reached the point at least a year prior where I had asked her to stop spamming (mass mailing) or particularly sending me religious posts.   So this email, pointing out the errors of her email and asking her to stop sending it is dated July 10.  Well, here’s what followed:

July 22 (hers is in black, my reply is in red.  Please note that I really try to get off these topics with her.)

YOU KNOW THIS WOULD PUT U S BACK IN THE BLACK BUT NO POLITICIAN WOULD DARE SUGGEST ANY OF THE CHANGES.  I LIKE IT  WHAT DO YOU THINK ?

“IF YOU CAN’T FIX IT WITH A HAMMER, YOU’VE GOT AN ELECTRICAL PROBLEM”

WRITTEN BY A 21 YEAR OLD FEMALE –  Wow, this girl has a great plan!  Love the last thing she would do the best.This was written by a 21 yr old female who gets it. It’s her future she’s worried about and this is how she feels about the social welfare big government state that she’s being forced to live in! These solutions are just common sense in her opinion.

This was in the Waco Tribune Herald, Waco , TX

PUT ME IN CHARGE . . .

Put me in charge of food stamps. I’d get rid of Lone Star cards; no cash for Ding Dongs or Ho Ho’s, just money for 50-pound bags of rice and beans, blocks of cheese and all the powdered milk you can haul away. If you want steak and frozen pizza, then get a job.

Rice, beans, cheese and powdered milk are NOT a balanced or healthy diet.  Poor people are fat because they have to buy the food they can afford, which is often carbohydrate intensive and lacking in basic nutrition.  This also leads to health issues like diabetes and heart disease, increasing their cost to the Government through Medicaid or Medicare.  I am very grateful that we receive food stamps and that I can shop for the food I eat, regardless of what other people think about my choices.  And I am not “wasting” that Government benefit when I buy not only steak, but grass fed, pastured beef steak.  I am buying the healthiest food possible and food stamps help us stretch our food budget and still have a healthy, balanced diet.  I shudder to think what we would look like if we lived on rice, beans, cheese and powdered milk.

Put me in charge of Medicaid. The first thing I’d do is to get women Norplant birth control implants or tubal legations. Then, we’ll test recipients for drugs, alcohol, and nicotine. If you want to reproduce or use drugs, alcohol, or smoke, then get a job. 

This is right up there with sterilizing the mentally retarded.  And Florida has already proven that testing the welfare recipients cost a lot more money than the two (yes, TWO) who failed the test are costing the system.  
I WISH I had had Medicaid for the 7 months I was without insurance and before the VA accepted my claim to health benefits.  I went to the free clinic and was able to actually get my fibromyalgia medication through them–or I would have had to do without, which means being untreated and therefore unable to do very much at all.  But WE paid for my pain medications because the free clinic does not dispense narcotics or opiates–you know, because of all those “drug addicts” who are abusing the system.  Oops, not in Fauquier County, they aren’t.

Now I have the interesting problem of getting almost all of my meds through the VA–except for one of my fibro med, arguably the most important, because it’s “not on their formulary”, so they don’t dispense it.  I have a prescription for it, so once again, we will have to pay for it if I am to take it.  Just one more item to come out of Beloved’s SSDI check, our only source of income at the moment.  And Beloved is now without health insurance until his Medicare kicks in, August 2014.  His head meds are paid for, through the free clinic.  But what about his pain meds, his gout meds, his high blood pressure pills?  His prescription acid reflux medication?  We will also be paying for those as we can, and hoping that the free clinic will be able to give us most of them.  But we’re not counting on it.

Incidentally, there are NO “Welfare Queens”, living off the system and laughing it up at taxpayer’s expense.  This is a fabrication, made up by people who think ANY government involvement in our lives is unacceptable–and these same people are usually benefiting in some way from a government program of some sort…ironic.
  
http://www.statisticbrain.com/welfare-statistics/

Yes, sometimes welfare recipients get more money than minimum wage workers.  That’s because the minimum wage is NOT a living wage, and welfare is at least trying to provide enough money to LIVE on.  So “getting a job” might actually mean a standard of living LOWER than being on welfare.  And that is called “poverty”, which nearly HALF of the citizens of this nation live in or at the ragged edge, due partly because minimum wage is NOT a living wage.  The average minimum wage earner must work a 67 hour work week in order to “afford” the necessities of life.

Put me in charge of government housing. Ever live in a military barracks? You will maintain our property in a clean and good state of repair. Your home” will be subject to inspections anytime and possessions will be inventoried.  If you want a plasma TV or Xbox 360, then get a job and your own place.

And here is where this “21 year old female” shows her complete lack of “real world” living.  First off, there is not enough military housing to accommodate the welfare recipients.  Secondly, this seems an awful lot like rounding up the “undesirables” and putting them into concentration camps.  Separate them, keep them from the rest of society.  Make sure they NEVER can integrate with the “rest of us”.  They don’t “deserve” it.  REALLY?  People do NOT choose to be on welfare; it’s simply NOT this program that allows you to live like royalty without some effort on your part.  Most people who have to use welfare are off of it within a year.  Whoopi Goldberg received welfare; J K Rowling also received the comparable British governmental payments before she wrote “Harry Potter”.  It’s not a “hand out”, it’s a “hand up” and it needs to be given with respect and dignity, to help those who need it and to guide them being able to “get a job” (that will pay a living wage; NOT a job at Wal-Mart where they will make about $8/hour AND receive training in how to apply for Social Services in their town.  EACH Wal-Mart store costs the government $900,000 in food stamps and other Social Services BECAUSE they refuse to pay their employees a LIVING wage.  And ALL of the Walton heirs are amongst the top 1% of the richest people in this nation.  How do they sleep at night?  Apparently very well, secure that they will have more money than they ever know what to do with… Incidentally, at least here in VA, Beloved and I are NOT eligible for welfare because we do not have any children.  And before you think that’s just more reason to sterilize welfare recipients, be aware that ONE IN FOUR — TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT — of the children in this nation go to bed hungry because their parents can’t feed them.  We are a Third World country, with a decimated “middle class” and the most unequal wealth distribution in history–and Fox News and their ilk will NOT report this, and the corporate propaganda machines will continue to churn out “Hooray USA” because they don’t want you to realize that everything that made this country great has gone to Hell in a hand basket.  All it takes is a little research and awareness of what is going on around you–look at the people you see in the grocery stores, at the mall…  Look at the people who are walking along the streets, go down to the Social Services offices and watch to see what kind of citizen goes in.  I know here, in our Social Services, it’s predominately white, but there’s young and old, male and female, married, with children or without, every demographic is well represented–except of course for the wealthy.  Why are more people applying to welfare?  Because so many employers have refused to pay a LIVING wage (different than the minimum wage, and the Koch Brothers are working to get rid of the minimum wage) that in order to feed their children, they must go on welfare.  They can’t afford childcare for the 67 hours they’d have to work to get enough money to live on.  And don’t say, “Well, they shouldn’t have had children.”  You did.  And what if, when Lowell was 3 or 4, Dad had lost his job and all he could get was something that paid, oh let’s say $3.75 per hour.  We couldn’t have lived on that–and like you, most of these people had their children when they had a job and thought they would be able to afford a family.  You don’t know the circumstances and to make a blanket statement about (essentially) sterilizing them and denying them the choice…is completely wrong.  Offer birth control, teach how family planning is the best way to take care of your family…but to mandate surgical procedures to get money?  Ummm, NO.

In addition, you will either present a check stub from a job each week or you will report to a “government” job. It may be cleaning the roadways of trash, painting and repairing public housing, whatever we find for you. We will sell your 22 inch rims and low profile tires and your blasting stereo and speakers and put that money toward the “common good..”

I actually have no problem with “workfare”–but I would also take it beyond just making them clean public buildings.  I would offer job training and help in job placement.  So why aren’t more of them getting jobs?  Oh that’s right, many of the jobs that used to be here in the US are now in China.  Or Malaysia, or some place else where labor is cheap and there aren’t things like governmental interference and mandated “minimum wages”.  We used to be a country that manufactured stuff…not any more.  We are a service economy which will inevitably fail.  And people on welfare are doing their best to put food on the table and cloths on their backs, trying to keep a roof over their heads.  They don’t have a lot of “free money” to purchase services.  And it’s not just people on welfare… it’s also those who are barely making ends meet, working longer and harder hours than anyone else in the so-called “First World”, who live in a world of revolving debt, trying to maintain some fiction of having money and those “services” the middle class can afford.  Except that our middle class is dying, squeezed to death by the corporations (“And aren’t you glad that you have a job in these tough economic times?”  — Beloved was asked this at work, so I’m not making it up…it really does get asked) and there’s no end in sight because “corporations are people”. 

Before you write that I’ve violated someone’s rights, realize that all of the above is voluntary. If you want our money, accept our rules  Before you say that this would be “demeaning” and ruin their “self esteem,” consider that it wasn’t that long ago that taking someone else’s money for doing absolutely nothing was demeaning and lowered self esteem. If we are expected to pay for other people’s mistakes we should at least attempt to make them learn from their bad choices. The current system rewards them for continuing to make bad choices.

Once again, the author shows her complete ignorance of why people are on welfare, need Medicaid, are using food stamps.  It’s not about mistakes…it’s about “shit happens” and sometimes you need help–that does NOT come from religious institutions or your neighbors and family.  While many religious groups do offer food pantries or some limited amount of money (a one time payment for rent, for example), they are not set up primarily to aid the poor and can require a certain agreement on the part of the recipients to also participate in their particular religious life.  In other words, you have to “be like us” to be given “our” help.  The same lack of consistent funds is true for family and neighbors–if you even know your neighbors and live close enough to your family to even make their care possible.  

Neither of us is in a position to help the other, for example–no matter how much we want to, our situations preclude any meaningful amount of help.  It’s not like we could move in with you, or you with us; our budgets do not include sending a check to the other.  And that’s okay, because there is a source of consistent and available income IF you qualify…and we have to re-qualify on a regular basis.  So the idea that we could be rich on welfare…doesn’t exist.  There are all kinds of checks and measures to ensure that no one can, simply because of the rumor of the “welfare queen”.  

Beloved and I have a friend who has received an SSDI check his entire life; he is not mentally capable of taking care of himself.  He gets a check for a whopping $400 PER MONTH.  That’s ALL he gets to live on.  He AND his mother get food stamps…$16 per month.  For both of them.  HE is the kind of person more likely to be on government subsistence and it’s not enough.  He can’t own too much, or they’ll take away some of that enormous check he gets. (Sarcasm!)  He has walked from Manassas to Richmond because of paperwork requirements for his “free government hand out”.  He’s been on this system for almost 20 years…and he will tell you that he has NEVER met that “welfare queen” –and he’s seen a LOT of welfare recipients.  If you know where that money is being handed out, let us know, because we’ll take him and go get some for ourselves.

AND While you are on Gov’t subsistence, you no longer can VOTE! Yes, that is correct. For you to vote would be a conflict of interest. You will voluntarily remove yourself from voting while you are receiving a Gov’t welfare check. If you want to vote, then get a job.

This part is particularly stupid and demeaning.  Voting is a RIGHT and unless you have been found guilty of breaking the law, with your rights suspended as a result of that verdict, NO ONE can just “remove” your rights.  Which is really what this girl is talking about: removing your right to have a family (“Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness”); removing your right to live where you please, removing your right to elect the very people who are overseeing the programs that you count on and are a part of.  I would think that gives you an even stronger incentive to vote.  People on welfare are a part of our society, and we need adequate representation of EVERY person in the elections, not just angry, old, white men who seem determined to remove everyone else’s rights.  (And this young woman, who I am willing to be someone who has never had to worry about where her next meal was coming from, or that her employer wouldn’t pay her a living wage so that she could afford to live on her own–most of the apartments in this area are set up for a “housemates’ situation–because NO ONE can afford to live around here on their own.)

Now, if you have the guts – PASS IT ON…I WOULD REALLY LIKE TO GET THIS BACK, IF EVERYONE SENDS IT, I WILL GET OVER 220 BACK!!!  I WOULD KNOW YOU SENT IT ON!!!

Ummm NO.  I won’t, and not because I lack guts.  I sent it back to you with MY opinions–and cited evidence where necessary, didn’t I?  It reads easy, seems like a good answer to the problems (if “welfare queens” were real, anyways) and she appeals to the mob sentiment of “we” don’t need these programs, but “they” do, so we have to control “them” and limit what they might actually receive.  Well, I am a part of “them”.  I NEED food stamps and I wish I could have medical assurance that I would receive ALL the medications my doctor(s) think I need–and Beloved, too.  He is on SSDI, arguably a form of Social Security, but he has not paid into it his entire life–just the first 20 some years.  So odds are good that he will be paid more “out” than he put “in”.  And we NEED that money.  It’s all we have right now, and $1350 doesn’t go far when your rent is $800.  Part of the reason we’re moving to Eureka is the cost of living is 30-40% LOWER than here in VA.  So our limited and set income will cover more of our costs.  There is every indication that I will also be approved for SSDI–and I haven’t paid in very much at all, comparatively.  And when we get to Eureka, we will RE-apply for food stamps (indications are that we will have to wait a year, to establish residency)…and we may not need to if we find that we can get through that year without them.  When Peter was still in the military, we were VERY eligible for food stamps–but we chose not to get them because we knew that we could live on what he was making.  That’s not so true now, which is not just a shame, but a damned shame to say about active duty military people–like William and Maria.  

I would offer this suggestion: please stop sending me political propaganda of any sort, and I’ll stop correcting it with cited sources and sending it back.  Just so we’re clear on this, I voted for Mr. Obama; I don’t think he’s somehow infallible–he’s a politician and has his own failings–but I do think that he was a MUCH better choice than that man with an elevator for his cars and the idea that an income of $250,000 per year is “middle class”(Source for actual statistics of “middle class” is wikipedia, here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_middle_class where there is a table down the page comparing various demographs…and NO WHERE on that chart does the number 250,000 appear.  Talk about “out of touch” with the average American.)  
Mr. Obama may be “just a community leader” but we need community now, more than ever.  We have become so divisive, us versus them, no matter what the difference is that we’re talking about…

Regardless of your views on abortion, the very notion that a roomful of old white men should be making ANY decisions about a woman and her medical choices is outrageous–and dangerous.  This whole anti-choice program is merely the start to remove HUMAN rights, beginning with females.  We have already effectively lost many of our 4th Amendment rights thanks to the Patriot Act…which is somehow not very Patriotic but much more about taking away the citizens’ rights.  In the meantime, more and more rights are being handed to corporations–don’t even start me on Monsanto, which I consider to be the most evil thing in the Universe at this point in time.  Like our individual choices about religion, politics is an area that we will probably not agree on, so it’s just better to let it go. 

And then began the veritable flood of religious and political emails, as offensive as they could get:

(Picture)F R O G we all need one.
I do hope this returns to ME the sender! Isn’t the little green guy sort of cute?(Picture)

I was told a story about a lady in the hospital who was near death, when a Chaplain came to visit her.This Chaplain was a young female, with long blond hair. She listened to the lady who was ill and left her a small gift for comfort, a tiny ceramic frog.The next day a friend from church came to visit.The lady told her friend about the beautiful young Chaplain who had come to visit her. The friend was so impressed with the way her friend had improved and felt the need to talk to the young Chaplain. In her search to find the young girl, she was repeatedly reassured that their chaplains are never very young, and that there was never a girl that fit the description given.
Upon returning to her friend in the hospital, a visiting nurse entered the room and noticed the ceramic frog.The nurse made the comment “I see you have a guardian angel with you.” As she held the frog we asked why she made the comment and we were informed what the frog stood for:

“Forever Rely On God”

To The World You Might Be One Person;
But To One Person You Might Be the World.
You have been Tagged by the Froggy,

which means you are a great friend!!

You will BE BLESSED if you send this to more people.
Friends are quiet Angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly.
Hi Lord, it’s me. Things are getting bad here, gas prices are too high, too few jobs, too much disrespect and violence, food and heating costs too high. I know some have taken You out of our schools, government & even Christmas. But Lord I’m asking you to come back and re-bless America . We really need You.Thanks Lord, I love You!

IN GOD WE TRUST

The Lord says when 2 or more are gathered in My Name, there I will be also!!! Let’s see how far this goes. Please pass this on…

Please God… please Bless America again.

GOD BLESS AMERICA , PLEASE, HELP KEEP THIS COUNTRY FREE

Then this arrived:

Subject: A country Founded by Geniouses but Run by Idiots

Attributed to Jeff Foxworthy:

If you can get arrested for hunting or fishing without a license, but not for entering and remaining in the country illegally — you might live in a nation that …was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

If you have to get your parents’ permission to go on a field trip or to take an aspirin in school, but not to get an abortion — you might live in a nation that was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

If you MUST show your identification to board an airplane, cash a check, buy liquor, or check out a library book and rent a video, but not to vote for who runs the government — you might live in a nation that was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

If the government wants to prevent stable, law-abiding citizens from owning gun magazines that hold more than ten rounds, but gives twenty F-16 fighter jets to the crazy new leaders in Egypt — you might live in a nation that was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

If, in the nation’s largest city, you can buy two 16-ounce sodas, but not one 24-ounce soda, because 24-ounces of a sugary drink might make you fat — you might live in a nation that was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

If an 80-year-old woman or a three-year-old girl who is confined to a wheelchair can be strip-searched by the TSA at the airport, but a woman in a burka or a hijab is only subject to having her neck and head searched — you might live in a nation that was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

If your government believes that the best way to eradicate trillions of dollars of debt is to spend trillions more — you might live in a nation that was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

If a seven-year-old boy can be thrown out of school for saying his teacher is “cute,” but hosting a sexual exploration or diversity class in grade school is perfectly acceptable — you might live in a nation that was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

If hard work and success are met with higher taxes and more government regulation and intrusion, while not working is rewarded with Food Stamps, WIC checks, Medicaid benefits, subsidized housing, and free cell phones — you might live in a nation that was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

If the government’s plan for getting people back to work is to provide incentives for not working, by granting 99 weeks of unemployment checks, without any requirement to prove that gainful employment was diligently sought, but couldn’t be found — you might live in a nation that was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

If you pay your mortgage faithfully, denying yourself the newest big-screen TV, while your neighbor buys iPhones, time shares, a wall-sized do-it-all plasma screen TV and new cars, and the government forgives his debt when he defaults on his mortgage — you might live in a nation that was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

If being stripped of your Constitutional right to defend yourself makes you more “safe” according to the government — you might live in a nation that was founded by geniuses but is run by idiots.

What a country!

How about we give God a reason to continue blessing America!

Then I had to deal with this:

67 years later!

What happened to the radiation that lasts thousands of years?

HIROSHIMA  1945
We all know that Hiroshima and Nagasaki were destroyed in August 1945 after the explosion of atomic bombs.
However, we know little about the progress made by the people of that land during the past 67 years.
HIROSHIMA – 67 YEARS LATER

(Series of pictures, all modern and fabulous looking)DETROIT- 65 YEARS AFTER HIROSHIMA

(Series of Pictures, all decrepit and ruined)

What has caused more long term destruction – the A-bomb, or Government welfare programs created to buy the
votes of those who want someone to take care of them
?

Japan does not have a welfare system.  (That is an out and out lie: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welfare_in_Japan )
Work for it or do without.

These are possibly the 5 best (BIGGEST LIES) sentences you’ll ever read and all applicable to this experiment:

1. You cannot legislate the poor into prosperity by legislating the wealthy out of prosperity.
2. What one person receives without working for, another person must work for without receiving.
3. The government cannot give to anybody anything that the government does not first take from somebody else.
4. You cannot multiply wealth by dividing it!
5. When half of the people get the idea that they do not have to work because the other half is going to take care of them, and when the other half gets the idea that it does no good to work because somebody else is going to get what they work for, that is the beginning of the end of any nation.
Can you think of a reason for not sharing this? Neither could I.

Next, I had to read this:

OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  (Which I sincerely doubt my mother even knows what it means, since she does not “take the Lord’s name in vain”)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXNZFe63brY

THERE ARE NO SURPRISES HERE FOR THOSE OF US WHO SAW IT COMING–

Look who’s new in the white house!Arif Alikhan – Assistant Secretary for Policy Developmentfor the U.S. Department of Homeland Security

 Mohammed Elibiary – Homeland Security Adviser

Rashad Hussain – Special Envoy to the (OIC) Organization of the Islamic Conference

Salam al-Marayati – Obama Adviser -founder Muslim Public Affairs Council and its current executive director

Imam Mohamed Magid – Obama’s Sharia Czar – Islamic Society of North America

Eboo Patel – Advisory Council on Faith-Based Neighborhood Partnerships

This is flat out scary!!!!   The foxes are now living in the hen house…Now ask me why I am concerned!!!

Then this, while interesting, not going to change my religious views:

Subject: God vs. Science–thought provoking! Read until the very surprise ending.

This one has been around many times but is still good.

Don’t give up on this one too soon – it does an about face.  🙂

 God vs. Science

“Let me explain the problem science has with religion.”The atheist professor of philosophy pauses before his class and then asks one of his new students to stand.‘You’re a Christian, aren’t you, son?’

‘Yes sir,’ the student says.

‘So you believe in God?’

‘Absolutely ‘

‘Is God good?

‘Sure! God’s good.’

‘Is God all-powerful? Can God do anything?’

‘Yes’

‘Are you good or evil?’
‘The Bible says I’m evil.’
The professor grins knowingly. ‘Aha! The Bible! He considers for a moment. ‘Here’s one for you. Let’s say there’s a sick person over here and you can cure him. You can do it. Would you help him? Would you try?’

‘Yes sir, I would.’
‘So you’re good…!’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘But why not say that? You’d help a sick and maimed person if you could. Most of us would if we could. But God doesn’t.’
The student does not answer, so the professor continues. ‘He doesn’t, does he? My brother was a Christian who died of cancer, even though he prayed to Jesus to heal him. How is this Jesus good? Can you answer that one?’
The student remains silent. ‘No, you can’t, can you?’ the professor says. He takes a sip of water from a glass on his desk to give the student time to relax. ‘Let’s start again, young fella. Is God good?’
‘Er..yes,’ the student says.
‘Is Satan good?’
The student doesn’t hesitate on this one.. ‘No.’
‘Then where does Satan come from?’
The student falters. ‘From God’
‘That’s right. God made Satan, didn’t he? Tell me, son. Is there evil in this world?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Evil’s everywhere, isn’t it? And God did make everything, correct?’
‘Yes’
‘So who created evil?’ The professor continued, ‘If God created everything,then God created evil, since evil exists, and according to the principle that our works define who we are, then God is evil.’
Again, the student has no answer. ‘Is there sickness? Immorality? Hatred? Ugliness? All these terrible things, do they exist in this world?’
The student squirms on his feet. ‘Yes.’
‘So who created them ?’
The student does not answer again, so the professor repeats his question. ‘Who created them?’ There is still no answer. Suddenly the lecturer breaks away to pace in front of the classroom. The class is mesmerized. ‘Tell me,’ he continues onto another student. ‘Do you believe in Jesus Christ, son?’
The student’s voice betrays him and cracks. ‘Yes, professor, I do.’
The old man stops pacing. ‘Science says you have five senses you use to identify and observe the world around you. Have you ever seen Jesus?’
‘No sir. I’ve never seen Him.’
‘Then tell us if you’ve ever heard your Jesus?’
‘No, sir, I have not.’
‘Have you ever felt your Jesus, tasted your Jesus or smelt your Jesus? Have you ever had any sensory perception of Jesus Christ, or God for that matter?’
‘No, sir, I’m afraid I haven’t.’
‘Yet you still believe in him?’
‘Yes’
‘According to the rules of empirical, testable, demonstrable protocol, science says your God doesn’t exist… What do you say to that, son?’
‘Nothing,’ the student replies.. ‘I only have my faith.’
‘Yes, faith,’ the professor repeats. ‘And that is the problem science has with God. There is no evidence, only faith.’
The student stands quietly for a moment, before asking a question of His own. ‘Professor, is there such thing as heat? ‘
‘ Yes.
‘And is there such a thing as cold?’
‘Yes, son, there’s cold too.’
‘No sir, there isn’t.’
The professor turns to face the student, obviously interested. The room suddenly becomes very quiet. The student begins to explain. ‘You can have lots of heat, even more heat, super-heat, mega-heat, unlimited heat, white heat, a little heat or no heat, but we don’t have anything called ‘cold’. We can hit down to 458 degrees below zero, which is no heat, but we can’t go any further after that. There is no such thing as cold; otherwise we would be able to go colder than the lowest -458 degrees. Everybody or object is susceptible to study when it has or transmits energy, and heat is what makes a body or matter have or transmit energy. Absolute zero (-458 F) is the total absence of heat. You see, sir, cold is only a word we use to describe the absence of heat. We cannot measure cold. Heat we can measure in thermal units because heat is energy. Cold is not the opposite of heat, sir, just the absence of it.’
Silence across the room. A pen drops somewhere in the classroom, sounding like a hammer.
‘What about darkness, professor. Is there such a thing as darkness?’
‘Yes,’ the professor replies without hesitation. ‘What is night if it isn’t darkness?’
‘You’re wrong again, sir. Darkness is not something; it is the absence of something. You can have low light, normal light, bright light, flashing light, but if you have no light constantly you have nothing and it’s called darkness, isn’t it? That’s the meaning we use to define the word. In reality, darkness isn’t. If it were, you would be able to make darkness darker, wouldn’t you?’
The professor begins to smile at the student in front of him. This will be a good semester. ‘So what point are you making, young man?’
‘Yes, professor. My point is, your philosophical premise is flawed to start with, and so your conclusion must also be flawed.’
The professor’s face cannot hide his surprise this time. ‘Flawed? Can you explain how?’
‘You are working on the premise of duality,’ the student explains. ‘You argue that there is life and then there’s death; a good God and a bad God. You are viewing the concept of God as something finite, something we can measure. Sir, science can’t even explain a thought.’ ‘It uses electricity and magnetism, but has never seen, much less fully understood either one. To view death as the opposite of life is to be ignorant of the fact that death cannot exist as a substantive thing. Death is not the opposite of life, just the absence of it.’ ‘Now tell me, professor. Do you teach your students that they evolved from a monkey?’
‘If you are referring to the natural evolutionary process, young man, yes, of course I do.’
‘Have you ever observed evolution with your own eyes, sir?’
The professor begins to shake his head, still smiling, as he realizes where the argument is going. A very good semester, indeed.
‘Since no one has ever observed the process of evolution at work and cannot even prove that this process is an on-going endeavor, are you not teaching your opinion, sir? Are you now not a scientist, but a preacher?’
The class is in uproar. The student remains silent until the commotion has subsided. ‘To continue the point you were making earlier to the other student, let me give you an example of what I mean.’ The student looks around the room. ‘Is there anyone in the class who has ever seen the professor’s brain?’ The class breaks out into laughter. ‘Is there anyone here who has ever heard the professor’s brain, felt the professor’s brain, touched or smelt the professor’s brain? No one appears to have done so… So, according to the established rules of empirical, stable, demonstrable protocol, science says that you have no brain, with all due respect, sir.’ ‘So if science says you have no brain, how can we trust your lectures, sir?’
Now the room is silent. The professor just stares at the student, his face unreadable. Finally, after what seems an eternity, the old man answers. ‘I Guess you’ll have to take them on faith.’
‘Now, you accept that there is faith, and, in fact, faith exists with life,’ the student continues. ‘Now, sir, is there such a thing as evil?’ Now uncertain, the professor responds, ‘Of course, there is. We see it Everyday. It is in the daily example of man’s inhumanity to man. It is in The multitude of crime and violence everywhere in the world. These manifestations are nothing else but evil.’
To this the student replied, ‘Evil does not exist sir, or at least it does not exist unto itself. Evil is simply the absence of God. It is just like darkness and cold, a word that man has created to describe the absence of God. God did not create evil. Evil is the result of what happens when man does not have God’s love present in his heart. It’s like the cold that comes when there is no heat or the darkness that comes when there is no light.’ 
The professor sat down.

If you read it all the way through and had a smile on your face when you finished, mail to your friends and family with the title ‘God vs. Science’
PS: The student was 
Albert Einstein.   Albert Einstein wrote a book titled ‘God vs. Science‘ in 1921…

And knowing that we are moving to Eureka CA in November, she sends this “joke”:

CALIFORNIA:

The Governor of California is jogging with his dog along a nature trail.

A coyote jumps out and attacks the Governor’s dog, then bites the Governor.

1.  The Governor starts to intervene, but reflects upon the movie “Bambi” and then realizes he should stop because the coyote is only doing what is natural.

2.  He calls animal control.  Animal Control captures the coyote and bills the State $200 testing it for diseases and $500 for relocating it.

3.  He calls a veterinarian.  The vet collects the dead dog and bills the State $200 testing it for diseases.

4.  The Governor goes to hospital and spends $3,500 getting checked for diseases from the coyote and on getting his bite wound bandaged.

5.  The running trail gets shut down for 6 months while Fish & Game conducts a $100,000 survey to make sure the area is now free of dangerous animals.

6.  The Governor spends $50,000 in state funds implementing a “coyote awareness program” for residents of the area.

7.  The State Legislature spends $2 million to study how to better treat rabies and how to permanently eradicate the disease throughout the world.

8.  The Governor’s security agent is fired for not stopping the attack.  The State spends $150,000 to hire and train a new agent with additional special training re: the nature of coyotes.

9. PETA protests the coyote’s relocation and files a $5 million suit against the State.

TEXAS:

The Governor of Texas is jogging with his dog along a nature trail.  A Coyote jumps out and attacks his dog.

1. The Governor shoots the coyote with his State-issued pistol and keeps jogging.  The Governor has spent $0.50 on a .45 ACP hollow point cartridge.

2. The Buzzards eat the dead coyote.

And that, my friends, is why California is broke (NOT TRUE) and Texas is not. (BUT TAKING ALL OF THE FEDERAL MONEY IT CAN; PROBABLY THE MOST GRABBY OF ALL THE STATES)

Stupid Email that only shows racism and disrespect/hatred of Mr. Obama:

Subject: Let’s Move to Mexico

Dear President Obama:

I’m planning to move my family and extended family into Mexico for my health, and I would like to ask you to assist me.  We’re planning to simply walk across the border from the U.S. into Mexico , and we’ll need your help to make a few arrangements.  We plan to skip all the legal stuff like visas, passports, immigration quotas and laws.   I’m sure they handle those things the same way you do here. So, would you mind telling your buddy, President Pena Nieto, that I’m on my way over?
Please let him know that I will be expecting the following:

1. Free medical care for my entire family.
2. English-speaking government bureaucrats for all services I might need, whether I use them or not.
3. Please print all Mexican Government forms in English.
4. I want my grandkids to be taught Spanish by English-speaking (bi-lingual) teachers.
5. Tell their schools they need to include classes on American culture and history.
6. I want my grandkids to see the American flag on one of the flag poles at their school.
7. Please plan to feed my grandkids at school for both breakfast and lunch.
8. I will need a local Mexican driver’s license so I can get easy access to government services.
9. I do plan to get a car and drive in Mexico , but I don’t plan to purchase car insurance, and I probably won’t make any special effort to learn local traffic laws.
10. In case one of the Mexican police officers does not get the memo from their president to leave me alone, please be sure that every patrol car has at least one English-speaking officer.
11. I plan to fly the U.S. flag from my housetop, put U S. flag decals on my car, and have a gigantic celebration on July 4th. I do not want any complaints or negative comments from the locals.
12. I would also like to have a nice job without paying any taxes, or have any labor or tax laws enforced on any business I may start.
13. Please have the president tell all the Mexican people to be extremely nice and never say critical things about me or my family, or about the strain we might place on their economy.
14. I want to receive free food stamps.
15. Naturally, I’ll expect free rent subsidies.

16. I’ll need income tax credits so that although I don’t pay Mexican taxes, I’ll receive money from the government.
17. Please arrange it so that the Mexican Government pays $4,500.00 to help me buy a new car.
18. Oh yes, I almost forgot, please enroll me free into the Mexican Social Security program so that I’ll get a monthly income in retirement.
I know this is an easy request because you already do all these things for all his people who walk over to the U.S. from Mexico . I am sure that President Nieto won’t mind returning the favor if you ask him nicely.

Thank you so much for your kind help.  You’re the man!!!

And then her best, most offensive and disgusting email arrived.  SO many lies and half-truths, so much vitriol and hatred towards LGBT community….I could barely read the first part before I had to just send her another email, slightly less polite.

Brilliance in Three Parts

Part I

A. Back off and let those men who want to marry men, marry men.

B. Allow those women who want to marry women, marry women.

C. Allow those folks who want to abort their babies, abort their babies.

D. In three generations, there will be no Democrats.

I love it when a plan comes together!

Part II

10 Poorest Cities in America and how did it happen?

City, State, % of People Below the Poverty Level

1. Detroit , MI 32.5%

2. Buffalo , NY 29.9%

3. Cincinnati , OH 27.8%

4. Cleveland , OH 27.0%

5. Miami , FL 26.9%

5. St. Louis , MO 26.8%

7. El Paso , TX 26.4%

8. Milwaukee , WI 26.2%

9. Philadelphia , PA 25.1%

10. Newark , NJ 24.2%

What do the top ten cities (over 250,000) with the highest poverty rate all have in common?

Detroit , MI (1st on the poverty rate list) hasn’t elected a Republican mayor since 1961

Buffalo , NY (2nd) hasn’t elected one since 1954

Cincinnati , OH – (3rd) since 1984

Cleveland , OH – (4th) since 1989

Miami , FL – (5th) has never had a Republican mayor

St. Louis , MO – (6th) since 1949

El Paso , TX – (7th) has never had a Republican mayor

Milwaukee , WI – (8th) since 1908

Philadelphia , PA – (9th) since 1952

Newark , NJ – (10th) since 1907

Einstein once said, ‘The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.’

It is the poor who habitually elect Democrats . . . yet they are still POOR.

Part III A MESSAGE TO PRESIDENT OBAMA—FROM ANOTHER PRESIDENT.

“You cannot help the poor by destroying the rich.

You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong.

You cannot bring about prosperity by discouraging thrift.

You cannot lift the wage earner up by pulling the wage payer down.

You cannot further the brotherhood of man by inciting class hatred.

You cannot build character and courage by taking away people’s initiative and independence.

You cannot help people permanently by doing for them, what they could and should do for themselves.”

. . . . Abraham Lincoln

“I’ve tried to ask nicely.  Now I am telling you.  DO NOT SEND ME THIS KIND OF STUFF.    I have tried to point out to you that I do not hold the same political views and that I find this offensive–and having told you that, I find this not only offensive, but incredibly, thoughtlessly, purposefully offensive.  I consider sending me stuff like this the same as sending me the nastiest dirtiest porn you can find–and frankly, I’d prefer that.  

I lack the energy to deal with continual assaults on my beliefs–religious, political or otherwise, especially when those attacks consist of biased opinion, slanted evaluations and unthinking bigotry, fear, hate, xenophobia, and religious zealotry.  And I will stop reading emails that affect me this way.  Which means that I will stop reading YOUR emails if they contain that kind of material.  And if I can’t tell from the subject line and open them to find it, well then I will have to stop reading ALL of your emails.  

I really don’t want to have to do this, but as I said, I have tried asking nicely.

Send me emails that talk about what you and Dad are doing, what you made for dinner, who you had over for lunch.  Tell me about what’s going on in the neighborhood, your health…in fact, talk about ANYTHING but politics and religion. “

Called to let them know that Beloved was in hospital: Aug 4.  Got a dressing-down (chastisement) from my FATHER about how I had talked (written) to my MOTHER.  NOT A WORD ABOUT BELOVED: NO INQUIRIES ABOUT HIS HEALTH, HOW I WAS HOLDING UP, NOTHING.  Just an old fashioned “talking to”.

So on Aug 5 I sent this email to my mother:
Just letting you that Beloved is in surgery for an endoscopy and they are looking for both growths and lesions.Then it’s probably real surgery to remove the gall bladder because he also has a 3cm gallstone. 
I called and told Dad but getting a lecture about how I had spoken to you was both insensitive and not appropriate at that time. I am an adult now and frankly, I spoke to you as I would have to anyone who persisted in sending me the emails that you had. I am not a child to be reprimanded for not agreeing with you.  If this is a problem for you, then it is your problem not mine. So how much we communicate is up to you.
And right now, I am dealing with my husband being in the hospital and am having all my support being friends and HIS family. It’s up to you.  K  (And it’s now the 8th and I haven’t heard a word from her.)

I really could have gone my whole life not knowing that my parents were so wrapped up in their religious and political views that they have lost all emotional and sympathetic connections to other people.  I have said for years that my parents shouldn’t have had children, as they really don’t like them…but I did not understand that the dislike went this deep.  Coming on top of a week of my dearly Beloved being so ill was devastating.

I had a friend who might have been more than a friend but we never had the chance to find out because he died of stomach cancer 8 or 9 months after we met.  His last words to me were “I love you”.  Having worked in the medical field as a nurse’s aide for 5 years, “looking for growths” has a fuller, more dreadful meaning to me: looking for cancer is the true explanation.  I was terrified I’d come back to find Beloved diagnosed with that cancer and I’d lose him.

I did not need to deal with the psychology of parents who couldn’t even offer sympathy…on the other hand, it cuts that frayed cord just that much more.  I haven’t seen them in almost 4 years; we talk barely once a month.  We are polite strangers and the truth is now easier to face than it was and it really boils down to this: if you weren’t related to this person, would you tolerate their behavior?  (Answer: No, I would not.)

All that matters now is that my sweet Beloved is home, getting better and preparing for outpatient gall bladder removal.  He wants to mount the 3 cm gall stone (that really is the size of a golf ball, you know) and beneath the stone have a plaque that reads “That’s no space station, that’s a gall stone!”  And we’re still going to Eureka, especially now that my stupid LTD insurance has FINALLY kicked in…oh, guess we were wrong, we’ll reverse the decision and pay it out–and since Fibro is no longer a ‘self-diagnosed’ disease, that means a pay out of not just 2 years…but 5.  Suck that!

I have what truly matters: a man who loves me as much as I love him; friends and my chosen family that are concerned and have been so kind and eager to help this week; and 3 months to get ready to move.  Thanks to all for the good thoughts and positive, healing energy.  Let’s keep that up for his surgery.  And blessings to those who understand the whole blessing process.

Namaste!!

UPDATE:  I am seriously going through the Kubler-Ross steps of grieving: Anger, depression, denial, bargaining and acceptance.  My parents, in their own way, have made this easier if I just go with the fact that they are old, and therefore, treat them as if they had died–and in their own way, they have died to me.

Makes it REAL easy to get rid of MORE things before moving, as I no longer have to acknowledge possession of this item or that and I feel no remorse or pain in getting rid of “heirloom” items.  Indeed, I will see just how much money I can get for them.  I do not need them any more to remind me of the fantasy I’ve been holding onto.  I don’t need to justify getting rid of family heirlooms, I don’t need to apologize for not keeping all of the various bits of stuff they have sent me.  My birth stone is peridot; I truly hate it.  Now I can get rid of every piece of jewelry that has it, that they gave me, without a qualm.  I will keep the things that mean something deep and personal to me: my grandmother’s amethyst ring, and HER mother’s amethyst ring.  The Goddess necklaces that my dear friends bought the parts and made just for me.  The diamond hugs and kisses tennis bracelet that my beloved husband put on my arm when we married.

Anyone want a peridot pendat?  A rather elaborate ruby ring?  I am keeping my great-grandmother’s quilt.  Just saying.  But there’s going to be a lot of other things that no longer have any indecision about keeping or getting rid of.  And I look forward to creating my own beloved family once we move to Eureka (I found it!) CA.

August 19:  Still not a word to be heard from my parents.  Beloved had his gall bladder removed, but pathology wouldn’t let him have the stone, so he has to live without it–and without the gall bladder either.  He tolerated the surgery well, but still has intractable vomiting and is not holding down much of anything.  Basically, he’s not eaten for almost a month now.  Every time he could get a saline IV going, it helped and he began to improve–and that was the orders from his surgeon.  Unfortunately, every time his surgeon’s associate GI doctor came on duty, he pulled the IV and Beloved regressed AGAIN.  Last Saturday (2 days ago), I came home to shower and get some clean clothes–having packed for what should have been an overnight stay and had been two weeks, I needed both–and my dearest Beloved called me and said, “Come and get me, they are putting me out.”  They waited until I had left the hospital (considering I had been at his bedside 24 x 7); then they gave him delaudid (making him heavily medicated and legally incapacitated, ie, not able to sign himself out of the hospital) and then told him he was being discharged.

I went and got him and brought him home.  In 24 hours, the only liquid he was able to hold down was about 6 ounces of local whole milk (pasteurized but NOT homogenized, as close to fresh out of the cow’s teat as a person can get around here!).  He did void over 1500cc of urine, which is good, sort of…and in 18 hours, slept about 14, which he desperately needed, having been awakened at least every 2 hours for the prior 3 weeks.  That’s called sleep deprivation and is a form of torture because you never reach REM stage of sleep–it’s really bad for you.  So almost a month later, several forms of what could be considered torture (lack of sleep, unnecessary procedures, lack of IV hydration for appropriate amounts of time), he’s just as sick, possibly sicker and still throwing up.

All the people at Fauquier hospital (And yes, I am naming names, because that’s where he was for all that time and that’s where all this bull shit went on–to the point where I can barely refrain from calling it the “FuckYouHere Hospital”–hereafter referred to as FYH Hospital) kept telling him that he needed to see a GI doctor.  They had two, whom he had seen–and they were soooooo fascinated by his lapband (a form of weight loss, Google it because I’m not going to try to explain it here)…and they both wanted to remove it, even though THEIR procedure of contrast imagery proved it was right were it belonged, in textbook location.  So “see a GI doctor” got changed ever so slightly to “see YOUR GI doctor” and a light went on in his head!  He had had a wonderful GI doctor, back when before having the lapband inserted, a doctor that he trusted and would be thrilled to return to his care.

EXCEPT…that meant going to Centreville to the doctor’s office, or (and this was the end result and more likely option anyways), going to Fair Oaks Hospital–both of which are farther and farther away from our house, harder to get to with a car that is ummmm about as sick as Beloved.  But anyway…Sunday evening, I called the doctor’s number, got the answering service with the name and number of the doctor who was covering for him.  Called THAT doctor; explained what was going on.  His immediate orders?  Go to the hospital and get on an IV!  And he told me that Beloved’s GI Doctor (who has a super hero name: Lance Lasner) would be in the office Monday morning.

I tried to find someone who could come to our door and take Beloved up to Manassas, to his parents house, so that they would then take him to the hospital.  No luck, so I ended up driving him up there…and feeling such guilt at not going with him–but I am so worn out, so exhausted from the past 3 weeks–I haven’t really slept more than a couple of hours at a go either…  I was worried about my driving that far, in the dark (which I have problems with anyways) and thank the gods, my husband is a most understanding man and did not hold it against me, and in fact, ordered me home to sleep, perchance to dream.

And then we found out this morning that our superhero doctor is on vacation through the end of this week.  Oops.  SOOOOO there’s another doctor covering for him and I contacted his office and spoke to his nurse/receptionist? and poured out the story to her.  She was so kind and so efficient.  “We will get the record from the other hospital and I will let Dr. Substitute know that he has a consultation at the hospital this morning.”

Needless to say, I have been in contact most of the day with Beloved.  (Mostly because I was smart enough to look for his phone when I came home to shower so he has it again.)  They have put him on an IV, cranked it open wide (drip rate is much higher than usual rate of flow) and are giving him IV meds where they can–to include Valium!  YAY! Get that pain level down, down, down.  The nurses and doctors at Fair Oaks have been expressing disbelief at the methods and actions of their ahem so-called colleagues at FYH Hospital and bluntly, I already have the name and contact information for a good malpractice lawyer.

Beloved is a little concerned that the doctors at Fair Oaks are also enthralled by the lapband and seem to want to take it out–but they do insist on running the (same) test to ensure that it is still in the place it’s supposed to be and not moved, since his vomiting has been…energetic.  So he’s supposed to have some sort of contrast imagery done this evening.  They have already begun the paperwork to see how much money Medicaid can throw at this–instead of throwing forms at us and leaving, as they did in the other hospital.  And they aren’t treating him differently because he doesn’t have money, which it seems like that particular issue DID make a difference at FYH Hospital.

And somewhere in all of that medical stuff, my Beloved managed to arrange for our friend, Little Miss (LM) to come over here tonight, stay the night and then drive me up to Fair Oaks tomorrow.  I can take all of his meds (which hopefully, he’ll be able to take by mouth and keep down then).  Since she’s off of work, it’s not costing her anything but time–and I will more than happy to fill the gas tank and feed her.  I will also be glad to see her.  I am weepy and angry and find myself talking out loud to myself–in a lovely British accent, I might add.  I also have lost 5 more pounds in the past 3 weeks.  It’s a great diet, other than the side effects of having your most Beloved love in the hospital and no one can figure out why.  I can only imagine how much weight he’s lost.

I am terrified that he’s going to die, that this will kill him before they can figure out what the hell is going on.  He insists that he will not die, that he’s too stubborn and not that sick…  I can only hope that he is right and that I am completely wrong because I don’t want to be right, not at all.  My feelings of terror and hopelessness are lessened by the growing assurance that he is finally in the right place, with the right medical people around him–and if nothing else, our superhero GI doctor will be back next week.  We can certainly hold on that long!  And Beloved would tell you that no one knows his gut like Dr. L!

So that’s where things stand now.  I could keep writing, but it begins to repeat and just be all morose and stuff, so I’ll stop here and hope, hope, hope that my next update will be a happy one!  Blessings and Namaste until then!

I Found It!

So once again, I am not blogging as often as I want to.  Time slips past me like quicksilver and I lose track of it like it doesn’t matter.  And it doesn’t, not so much.  Not like I have to be anywhere.

Let’s see…what has been happening?  Late April (or early May, I don’t remember), I got my packet from the Veteran’s Administration (VA), telling me I had been accepted for health benefits.  These should be lifelong and should forever take care of the health insurance question.  It does mean that I have to go to a VA facility for healthcare, but I am so okay with that.  I called and set up my first appointment, getting their first available appointment: 17 July.  Think they’re a little backed up?  Oh well.

It’s going to be an interesting appointment.  First off, I have to find out if I am actually eligible for some level of disability from the VA.  Oh, not that I got some injury while in the AF but for a much more convoluted and fascinating reason.  You see, I lived in Saigon for the Tet Offensive of 1968.  My father has disability from the VA because he was exposed to Agent Orange.  By association, and by living in Saigon at that time, it is entirely possible that I was also exposed, and therefore may have health issues that would be caused by it.

(Side note: the general scientific consensus is that Agent Orange, and Round Up, the weed killer that is also from Monsanto and contains one half of the ingredients of Agent Orange, cause a lot of diseases, including autoimmune diseases.  Fibromyalgia has just been characterized as autoimmune rather than neurological.  I think I have a decent case for disability…)

So we will have to decide if I am eligible for any disability, doing whatever testing is required to substantiate that.  Which leads to my second question: would the VA pay for my fibromyalgia blood test?  It lets them make the actual diagnosis for themselves.  It would give me concrete evidence to submit to the SSA for my SSDI appeal and it would change my LTD from 2 years’ payout for a “self diagnoses disease” to a 5 year pay out for a proven and doctor/lab verified disease.  And if somehow the test is negative, then we can begin trying to find out what else it could be, because I am really, really sick with something.

And in the meantime, as we’re doing all this testing, I want to keep all the medicines I’m on, so will the VA write scripts for all of my meds?  It’s only 3 pain meds and 2 fibro meds…

(Insert explanation: Beloved actually forked out the money for a “no insurance” doctor visit for me.  The doctor doubled down on the Vicodin, going from a 5 mg dose to 10 mg and added Neurontin, which makes a huge difference.  Pfizer finally agreed to give me the Lyrica for free as part of their “help the community and those who need it” program.  One problem: I had been taking it as 2 150 mg tablets, one in the morning, one in the evening.  They sent me 300 mg tablets, that I take at night.  Problem with that?  Apparently taken in the large single dose, it makes me…um…high as a kite.  So my choices come down to this: Insufficient pain management and a missing fibro med making me unable to function, OR pain management and both fibro meds and I’m in better shape emotionally and mentally, but am still essentially unable to function in a meaningful way.  Guess which I have chosen?)

I will also be asking the VA about dental work, since I need that done, too.  I’m not going to abuse these new benefits, but I am going to get all that I can and am entitled to have.  And I don’t have to go far for my appointment–it’s about 25 miles from me, which is closer than our PCP is.  Oh well.

Beloved was once again denied LTD from his insurance company, with only legal recourse at this point and we lack the funds to file a claim in court.  So it was a possible source of income that won’t be incoming and we’re adjusting for that.  Now let’s talk about some of the other adjusting we’re doing based on actual and potential income.

We got to talking about our costs, the money we have or will have, the money we can expect to have for the rest of our lives and how to best live on that extremely fixed income.  We acknowledged that living here in NoVA is extremely expensive and that we are not going to be able to afford this apartment for very long if last year’s increase is any indication–our rent went up $25 last lease signing.  That’s not a lot, true…but in 4 years, that makes an additional $100 and trust me when I tell you that our income is NOT going to keep up with that–and the concurrent increases in the cost of everything.

So Beloved said to me, “Okay, we’re retiring.  That’s essentially what this is.  We don’t go to work any more and we’re on a fixed income.  We’re retirees.”  I agreed.  He continued.  “So if we could live anywhere in the entire US, where would we go?  Hawaii is out as is Alaska…both of them too far from anyone we know and AK is TOO cold for you.  So what does that leave us?”

And we looked, discarding this state or area by virtue of its climate–both meteorological and political.  (Which included VA for the political reasons.)  And once we had done that, he says, “That pretty much leaves us with the West Coast.”  Yup.  We also agreed that SoCal was OUT of any discussion, but he asked me, “Where would we go?”

Well, WA is not bad politically, but a little cold for me.  And OR didn’t have a lot to commend it to us.  I’m sure that the people who live there (all 12 of them, HAHA!) or the other people who might want to move there think it’s great, but we didn’t find anything that made us go WOO HOO.

So Beloved says to me, “Ok, we’re looking at northern California.  What is there, which city seems like the place we’d want to live?”  And I went, “EUREKA!”  which in Greek means, “I found it!”.  It also happens to be nearly the only city on the northern coast of CA once you get past San Francisco.  He and I looked at where it was on the map and I began to do my Internet Search-Fu to find out about it.

And everything I found?  Began to suggest more and more that it was ideal.  Short story? We’re moving to Eureka in November, come hell or high water.  Long story?  Let me tell you what I found out.

Eureka is called a city, but has a population of only 35,000 with a weekday swell to 45,000 with the commuters (whose commute averages about 15 minutes.  Anyone who lives in VA would KILL for a 15 minutes commute).
Eureka is the only deep water harbor between San Fran and Coos Bay, WA.  That means SEAFOOD.  Fresh caught, freshly available, WILD caught.  Oyster farms.  Salmon.  Tuna.  SEAFOOD.  SCORE!!!
Eureka is in Humboldt County, home of many, if not most, of the organic foods available everywhere else in the US.
Eureka has a cost of living that is between 30 and 40% cheaper than Northern Virginia.  Rents are lower, utilities are lower, food is cheaper and is not taxed.
Eureka has a public transit system that runs 6 days a week.  They also have a free “to your front door” ride available if you have documented disabilities that prevent you from walking to the bus stop, or if  you’re unable to stand for more than 15 minutes at a time.  We are, I believe, eligible for this service.
Eureka has a steady climate.  The coldest temperature ever recorded was 24 degrees; the hottest, 84.  The average temperature, year round, is 65 degrees.  There are two seasons: dry and wet.  So yes, in the “winter”, it rains.  And rains.  But there’s only 3 days per year that actually have a hard frost and almost no snowfall at all.  Part of my ongoing issues with fibro is the weather, here in NoVA.  It changes every 15 minutes or so.  And that fluctuation in barometric wreaks havoc with my joints and causes more pain on top of the fibro’s blessings of pain.  I look forward to “steady”.
Humboldt County is also home to the largest farms for medical marijuana.  Which may prove to be useful to both me and my Beloved for pain management and anxiety, in that order.

Everything I have found out about Eureka makes me more and more eager to go.  The only sadness I have at moving is leaving my friends and family behind, although I’ve asked everyone if they want to move with us!  I will probably never get to see my family again except on Skype…ditto for the friends.  But we talked about that quite seriously and have reached this conclusion: we CANNOT continue to live here, on the very edge of poverty, one car repair or major purchase needed from falling over into poverty, never to get out again because of the increasing costs in this area, while waiting for the 2-4 visits per year from the family members and friends.  Yes, costs will increase in CA, but since we start from a much lower place, we will have to time to prepare for those higher costs over a greater period of time.

Eureka has a large artistic and creative community.  I have found a wood working class for Beloved, and there are watercolor painting classes that I am interested in.  If we want to go back to college, we can–either in the community college, or in Humboldt State University.  We can go to the beach whenever we want, and even if the water’s a bit cold, I can get back into salt water.  I have missed living near water and look forward to seeing the waves crash as the sun sets on the Pacific.  It will be even better having my Beloved with me.

We intend to sell or get rid of all most all we own.  We will only take those things that are too expensive to replace once in CA, or that are irreplaceable AND wanted.  We are also traveling to CA by plane, first class.  Beloved is a large man and would require two seats in coach…so we’re allotting money to go first class and avoid all the crush that coach entails.  It also means that we can take two suitcases each, weighing up to 70 pounds.  For an additional $100 per bag, we can each take one more bag, up to 100 pounds.  That’s a grand total of 480 pounds of personal belongings that will go with us on the plane.  We also get a hot meal, bigger seats, and booze. Well, maybe not the booze, but it really doesn’t matter.  It’s a special start to a new life out West.

The opportunity for better living, better food (all organic), SEAFOOD, steady climate…means that perhaps this is the chance I need to take to end up recovering enough of my health to go back to doing some of the things I used to.  Or at least not being chained to a computer desk because I cannot do anything else.  I want to be healthy, but the conditions and our situation here are not conducive to that.  I need to go some place else, and I think I have indeed, found it.

So there we are, and even though this hurt to type it out, I wanted to let you know that things have been happening with me.  Hoping that they all turn out good!

Namaste!

Father’s Day 2013 (Updated on Jun 28)

So I scrolled through my Facebook feed this morning, reading status after status of Father’s Day greetings.  Some were for fathers who have died but are still being acknowledged for the influence they had on their children.  Some were for the fathers of their children, even if they aren’t still a husband–and the fact that, once you have kids, you are connected to this man forever, no matter what you think or feel about him.

These messages were, almost 100%, positive and affirming, thanking men who had great influence on lives beyond merely donating genetic material for their lives.  Many posters changed their profile picture to one of their father, or of their father and them.  Several talked about the continued interaction they have with their fathers, even being adults themselves, and how this continues to make their lives more meaningful.

I guess you can tell that we’re not going to have that kind of conversation here.

I’ve blogged before about my father ( My Daddy ) so I won’t go into long details about my childhood here.  But I got to thinking, as I was reading my friends’ comments, that while I love my father, I feel no particular connection to him.  I may not even call him today because frankly, he’s getting old, he doesn’t hear well, he’s hard to understand on the phone–and he wants to talk about health issues and what I should be doing about mine.  There’s not much left for us to talk about; computers, how my car is doing, health.  When I do call, if he answers, once he realizes it’s me, he hands the phone over to my mom almost immediately.

I haven’t seen my father in almost 4 years; the last time I saw him (and my mother) was when they came to Baltimore to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary with me, my children, my brother and his family.  We tried to make the trip as pleasant as possible and they both just complained about everything.  (Minor side not here: choosing the restaurant for the anniversary dinner was horrendous.  Suggestion after suggestion was made, internet research was done and menus were compared.  It finally came down to my father telling my mother, “ML, just pick one because you’re not going to like it anyways.”  Prophetic words.  They both groused about it later, how the food wasn’t that good and so on.  I thought it was really good and so did everyone else at the table.  Sigh.)

It is entirely possible that I will never see either parent again.  And when they die, I am not going to TX to the funeral(s).  I cannot afford it and I see no reason to go visit someone if they don’t know I’m there.  Hmmm visits.  I got to counting how many times I’ve seen my father after I left home to go into the AF (1980).  He visited MY house exactly ONE time.  I think the total is 8.  And one of those is actually the 3 month period when I lived with my grandmother (who lived just 5 minutes walking from my mother, her daughter).

So in my adult life I continued the pattern of my childhood–my father loves me, provides what he can, whether it be advice or material things, but he’s just not around.  My father is NOT my friend.  And I don’t mean that in a nasty way.  But you hang out with friends, you see them and call them regularly, you know what each other likes and dislikes.  I don’t do any of that with the man whose genetic information I carry.  I look like my father.  I cannot tell you what his favorite color, food, band or TV show is.  I don’t know what size he wears, or what kind of shirt he prefers.  In fact, there’s an awful lot about my dad that I don’t know.  And that’s true the other way around: he doesn’t know an awful lot about me.

So there’s no connection beyond that DNA thing.  Not really.  We might pretend that there is.  We can talk about “remember when” from a history of 18 years together–but I don’t remember the first 3 or 4 real well and to be blunt, he wasn’t there for a great deal of the other 14 years.  Not until I was in high school was he truly a routine part of my routine.  And folks, it’s been 34 years since that time existed.  We’ve all forgotten a lot about it, so there’s a few highlights that get mentioned whenever we’re talking about the good old days.  We don’t have any current congruent events to discuss.  And no upcoming common events to plan.  So no connection of the normal social interaction that defines friendship and family.  (You can have lots of family that has NO common DNA with you–it’s the family that you’ve chosen rather than the one you were born into.  And generally, these are better and more assured places for support, resources and emotional bonds.)

He IS my father.  As I said, I look like him.  Even with him being gone so much of my childhood, my mother has told me that in many ways, I act like him.  I believe that personality has at least 50% of its basis in your DNA; you are born with a personality framework that is in your genes.  THEN your environment either brings out or suppresses various parts of the personality.  So I can act like him without knowing how he acts.  He has many characteristics that I respect; he has done many great things in his life.  He has had an interesting and exciting life (and while it’s not over, I suspect that the drama factor has dropped substantially.  The biggest event now is driving up to San Antonio for his doctor’s appointments.  LOL).  But I do not have a bond with this man whose genetic traits I carry.

Father’s Day.  I honor my father for all that he has given me, for all that he has taught me, for the example he has been to me and my brother.  I respect him for the life he has led, even though I cannot tell you most of it.  I love him in a way that I will never love another man, but in many ways, he is still a stranger to me.  And all I can tell you for sure is that he is my father.

So I scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed, reading about fathers and feeling sad about these truths I hold about my father when I read my daughter’s status.  Like many others, she mentioned her biological father as well as the father of her children.  I read that status a couple of times and while I would have loved to click the “Like” button on this status as I had on so many others, I just could not.

Here’s why.  She could have mentioned a third man, honoring him for being another person in her life who loves her and is a resource for her–emotionally, physically, financially.  Someone who is there to talk to, who visits and who also loves her children.  Someone who has no children of his own, will have no grandchildren that look “just like grammpa!”.  A man who wanted nothing more than to be a part of my family–my husband.  It’s not that there is a nasty scene with high drama that explains why she didn’t mention him.  She CHOSE to preclude him from the status of “step dad” of her own free will and without any cause from him.  And this makes me both incredibly angry and terribly sad.

It affects me because it affects him.  I talked about this in my earlier blog, “Changes, Choices and Chagrin” and obviously, nothing has changed since then.  Today’s status was just another emotional slap in the face and frankly, I am not in a condition to deal with it.  Which is why I’m writing it here.  If I can write it down, share it with you, perhaps I can let it go out of my heart and not continue to cry about it.  He never wanted nor meant to replace her “real” father in her life.  And I truly believe that we can never have too many people who love us.  So it always makes me sad when people choose to refuse offers of genuine love and support.

I was told that it would get confusing to the granddaughter to have all these grandparents, that the biological father’s wife wasn’t being called “grandma” either, so my husband didn’t have to feel that he was being singled out.  Well, guess what?  No child can have too many people to love them, either.  And just exactly WHAT do you call the husband of your grandmother or the wife of your grandfather?  I was initially told that the title also could not be used because we weren’t married.  And the impression I got was that there was this conga line of men going through my life, and it WOULD get confusing if Grandmom had a new grandfather with her every time she visited.  Not sure where that impression was based, because Beloved was the first man I had dated in several years, and the first man I moved in and was living with since a relationship that had died in 2002.  We’re not talking conga line.  We’re barely talking MEN plural.  And regardless of that, we ARE married now.  Have been for quite a while.

And it’s not confusing to the kids if you say “Grandmom Lisa and Granddad John are coming over.” And then there’s Granddad Bill and his wife, Grandmom Julie.  And considering that my daughter’s quasi-in-laws are also divorced and there’s 4 of them as well…it’s just the way things are, and there’s a lot of families that are having to use this same kind of naming system because divorce occurs so often.  This doesn’t even begin to include the “greats”–the still living parents of the grandparents.  Or the dear, dear family friend who is too old to be “Auntie” or “Unk”.  And when a small child is referring to this one as a grandparent, do they call the spouse by their first name?  Unless said spouse has indicated that’s the preferred method of naming, it’s kinda rude.

“The child will pick their own name for the (not) step-grandparent.”  Really?  Then we’re in real trouble, especially considering that my Froggy calls his other grandmother “Nut Nut”.  And my granddaughter calls her (not) step-grandmother “Poopie”.  No thanks.  I’d like SOME control over what I’m going to hear out my beloved grandchildren’s mouths for the next oh 18 years.  Truthfully, I’m not caught up in the title part.  I really am okay with my grandchildren calling me by my name.  It’s short, it’s easy, even a child can say it without too much problem: Kate.  But that denies the social nicety, almost necessity of that title, which defines my relationship to the child.  Which is why I’m peeved that my husband is going to have to be explained–and the explanation comes down to, “This man is my grandmother’s husband, but he’s NOT my grandfather.”  Fuck that shit.

And up a generation, the introduction sounds like this: “This is my mother’s husband, but he’s NOT my father.”  Wow.  Really?  What’s wrong with, “This is Jim, my stepdad.”  Because there are step-parents who are as bad (or worse) than your biological ones.  It’s a title, it explains the relationship between the two people without having to make someone feel bad because you talk around the connection.  Oh connection.  That’s right, it has been chosen to refuse that connection.  And in refusing to make *that* connection, the grandchildren are also denied the connection.  It could not be made any clearer that my Beloved, MY husband, is not a part of my family.

My family, that I have loved and thought was strong, my children who I also call my friends.  Seems like I was wrong and I’m not sure where I lost that.  But it’s gone.  I have to acknowledge that while we have a different relationship than if we were just parent and child, we really aren’t friends any more, for the reasons listed above about why my father and I aren’t friends.  Same reasons, same results.  And if I have to choose between my children, who are grown and have children (and lives) of their own–and my husband, there’s no choice.  Why should I give up my happiness and my love to sit at home and wait for my children to visit me at their convenience?  They have lives of their own, it is not their responsibility to take care of me nor to be at my beck and call–or even to be a regular part of my life, given the geographical distances there are between us.

I expect them to be smart enough to know that the last sentence works both directions.  I have a life of my own, with my own Beloved and this is the life that I choose.  I do NOT choose to exclude my genetic offspring.  I would prefer to see them often, to have time together…but it’s just not the reality of our lives.  I have offspring by choice–young people who do seek me out, that I spend time with, who are my friends.  I consider them family just as much as the 3 I pushed out of my body and into the world.  That genetic bond will always, always be there; I do and will always love the children of my body dearly and would do anything I could for them if they needed it–BUT I will also live my own life, with my love, with the family of my choosing.  I hope that I will choose wisely and always welcome into my life the people who will love me, support me, be a resource and a help to me.  I know that people will come and go; there is a tide to who is in the family just as sure as the tides of the ocean.  Being related means that you get first dibs, but you don’t get the only dibs.  And if you don’t maintain the other relationship ties, the genetic tie can end up not being enough to say that you are family any more.

I say this even as I acknowledge that I have both a mother and a father, still living.  I have a brother (who has his own family).  Are the original four members of the first family I ever knew still a family?  No.  Not really.  Being family requires effort, it’s a relationship, same as being in love, or being married, or being friends.  It requires the expenditure of time definitely and money possibly.  It requires commitment…and I am feeling very unhappy that my daughter and her love, the parents of my granddaughters, will not accept my commitment to my husband nor do they welcome the chance for a new commitment to someone who would be another person to love them–and their children.  I feel very unhappy that my son apparently has some of the same hesitations, although our interactions with him have not been as strained or requiring as much conversation as I have had with my daughter.

I cannot tell if this is just a part of their concern for me.  The rapidity with which my Beloved and I went from meeting to married was…well, whirlwind.  (See “The Case of the Disappearing Queen“)  I can’t tell if the timing of my decline in health and our being together has seemed too coincidental and therefore, it’s *his* fault.  Which it’s not–and apparently, no one has considered where I would be health-wise if I did not have him with me.  I shudder to think what state I’d be in, physically and mentally, if I did not have him to help me, to care for me when I need it and to have been a financial resource when I couldn’t work.  OMG, I’d probably have a dreadful life of work and sleep with no ability to do anything else–and I would not be diagnosed, so I’d be getting sicker and sicker, taking more and more OTC drugs to try and handle the pain…don’t want to think about it.

What began as a routine Sunday has been changed into a long rant about fathers, family and what constitutes both–and what doesn’t.  I think I feel a bit better, although sadly resigned to the way things are in my life, both in the direction of my father as well as in the direction of my children.  I am going to be posting another blog pretty quickly behind this one, as things have been happening and I haven’t been telling you about them, but they are separate from this one.  Thank you for listening, maybe this has started some introspection of your own about your father and your family.  As I told Beloved, the best definition for enlightenment is probably this: Learning something you really didn’t want to know, but knowing that it’s true.  Sigh.

Namaste, and Happy Father’s Day!  (We all have one, no matter what!)

***************************************************************************************************

UPDATE:

So.  Things have happened, conversations have occurred and I need to make an update to this blog.

I owe some apologies to people who were mentioned earlier.  First, for “airing dirty laundry” in public, “all over Facebook”.  Even though I don’t use names, if you know me, you know who I mean when I talk about my family.  So it’s not as discrete as perhaps it should be.  On the other hand, this is MY blog and while the link gets posted in FB, I find it really hard to believe that EVERYONE reads it.  If they do, then I have a larger audience than I ever imagined.  

Second, I apologize to everyone that I “pushed” my husband on.  In my love and enthusiasm, I wanted everyone who knew me to love him as much and accept him as someone with a greater claim to association than perhaps they felt comfortable with at first meeting.  He was also enthusiastic about having instant relationships, again, simply by association to being with me.  He is a generous man, who believes that if he has it, does not need but you do, will then give said item(s) to you for your benefit.  It may be something as simple as sharing the names of his favorite sci fi authors, or the information he has gained about organic foods.  It can also include physical things, from a shared meal that you don’t have to pay for, to a book that he thinks you will enjoy, even up to expensive electronics that are on “permanent loan” until it can be paid back over time–and the cost is always at a loss to him.  

Unfortunately, his bipolar disorder causes some behaviors that may not be understood by others.  He loves to talk about his gaming, or military history…and when he knows about a topic, he KNOWS about a topic.  And the more enthused he gets, the louder he gets.  (Doesn’t help that he’s got moderately severe hearing loss in both ears.)  He is also particularly susceptible to emotional swings (he’s bipolar, remember?) and a casual remark that seems slighting to him can push him into depression faster than Superman changes his clothes.  If he were diabetic, I’d warn people not to give him sugary things.  There’s no nice or easy way to warn them about the various manifestations of his disease–which is mostly controlled by his meds, but the stress anxiety disorder rears its head up and makes some visits with people really interesting.  Let’s just say that he needs ALL that he can take for stress before going to see his mother…a major source of anxiety every time we go.  

So he’s not “normal”, does not react to things the same way as you or I.  He was thrilled to think of my family as suddenly being “his” family too.  Neither of us considered that relationships don’t spring into being…and we should have.  We’re not around children very often…and even though he would love to have a child, it’s obvious that we’re not going to.  So he lacks some of the social skills for interacting with the little ones.  Watching him hold a newborn was amusing because it was very apparent that he felt like he was holding a piece of dainty china!  I also suspect that his size can be a bit intimidating to the little people, and as a person they’ve just met, or met before but not seen very often, they may not initiate interaction with him–and he has no idea how to start up playing with them.  He has really very little experience with anyone younger than about 15-16 years old.  But he does enjoy contact when it occurs; he tries to be welcoming to them and having a good time with them. And children are much more accepting than adults.  

Having said that, it is important to tell you that it was never meant for him to supplant an already present family member.  NEVER.  But he is not considered to be a part of the family at all.  He’s just “my husband”.  It’s apparently irrelevant that by being “my husband”, he is MY family.  He and I are related, by love and by law.  

I think that my biggest problem with this, even as I understand the reluctance to give him not even the same, but similar name, to other family members is that I never hesitated to consider various other people who came into our lives over the years as family members…I have a “son by another mother” and a couple of daughters that I did not give birth to.  I’ve had sisters by another mister…and even some older friends who felt like aunts, uncles or even grandparents.  An insistence that only people related by blood and DNA can be given familial titles is something that I find extremely limiting.  And in limiting them by title, you do the relationship an injustice–and can end up not realizing just how much like a “true” family member they are.

You are related to some people by blood and DNA.  And they may not be good for you; they may be abusive, or neglectful (its own sort of abuse) or they may simply just not want the very best for you and are nothing but a negative influence in your life.  They may be leeches, in subtle ways as they wear you out emotionally, or in more obvious ways as they live off of your efforts, including your money.  They may have all sorts of bad, unpleasant or obnoxious behaviors–and if they weren’t related to you by blood and DNA, you would have NOTHING to do with them.  So why do you accept behavior you find deplorable from someone, just because they are “related” to you?  You don’t have to.

And other the hand, there are people that you meet–in the grocery store, at the library, in a bar; you might meet them by being introduced to them by a friend or your blood relative.  And the Universe has put them into your path because they can help you, they can be a resource for wisdom–or money; they can be a sounding board for your new ideas because you know that they will give fair assessments and plausible suggestions to make those dreams come true.  Sometimes, they do end up replacing a “real” relative who has died because they have taken on the role that relative was for you.  

“Home is the place that when you go there, they have to take you in.”  And home is not a specific building, just to be clear.  There are plenty of folk who have been kicked out the home they thought they had, told never to come back.  Or when they need to return because their life hasn’t gone well, they are grudgingly allowed back, and served up a litany of how rotten they are, what a loser they are… So sometimes being blood related ain’t worth shit.

Which is why I have said, over and over again, that you have family that you are related to, but don’t HAVE to endure…and you have the family that you choose.  These are the people that you KNOW have your back, that will welcome you into their home no matter what time of day, to let you stay as long as you need to.  They will give you money, food, clothes and their car without question.  They will comfort you when things get bad, and cheer you when good stuff happens.  And in this family that you’ve made, there might actually be several “moms”, a “dad” or two…some uncles, some sisters, some whatevers…it’s just about having a group of people that love you, just as you are.  They are a resource and a refuge whenever you need them.  And it’s always a joy (and generally lots of fun) to be with them.

Frankly, I do not understand why anyone would want to limit this chosen family, to keep the familial titles for those who share DNA–even when those DNA sharers aren’t worth the time of day.  I don’t, and won’t.  So I guess I tend to forget that not everyone wants to just add people in, willy nilly.  So I apologize for that as well.

I never meant to make anyone feel unhappy or uncomfortable at any point since meeting my Beloved.  I can only point to my enthusiasm for finding the love of my life as the reason for wanting to include him at every level with my family, related and chosen.  I failed with both and now there’s just him and me.  Which may be sad, but perhaps as it was supposed to be, so that the move to CA would not be as heartbreaking, having to leave everyone behind.  Even the ones I thought might be going with us will not be going at the same time…and things can change, so we shall have to wait and see.  

I hope that we can continue to communicate with those we leave behind–yay for the Interwebs, Skype and FB. And maybe, just maybe…people will at least come to visit?

Namaste once again, my friends–and my family.

A Lull in the Holidays

So Christmas has come and gone already.  I’m not really sure where December itself has mostly disappeared to…I know that we spent a lot of time getting paperwork to the requesting company or governmental department.  I also managed to work up an abscessed tooth, so ended up at the free clinic in Fauquier County.  It wasn’t what I was expecting–no overt “poor”-ness, the staff was amazingly kind and helpful (and they are all volunteers).  As they took my health history, they of course asked for medications I’m on–and the first question out of the nurse’s mouth as I began to list them was “Do you need any refills?”  Not yet, but that’s something I’ll be doing soon, as things are beginning to go low–and I need another doctor’s note to appeal the insurance company’s decision to stop paying Long Term Disability (LTD).  Since my health is “self-diagnosed” (no actual blood test or MRI/X-Ray to prove I have it) I have to KEEP proving I have it.  Like it’s just going to go away because they won’t pay beyond the end of the month.  I wish.

So let’s see…what has been going on?

Black Bear Bistro runs a weekly contest–Chef gives a particular kind of meat and then asks for recipes using that ingredient, serving it as one of the specials on Friday night.  The week before Christmas, he said “duck breast”.  I said, “brine in throwback Dr. Pepper and then smoke, serve it with a cranberry salsa and sauce it with a Dr. Pepper/bourbon reduction”.  He said OH YEAH! And I won the contest that week–and the prize?  Getting my recipe made up as dinner for free.  Needless to say, we went to BBB and had it.  Apparently it was very popular that evening.  I know that when they brought mine to me, a man sitting nearby said, “Mmmm what is that?” and then he ordered it.  And it was amazing.  I don’t know what kind of a contract Chef made with the smoke demons, but anything that man makes that comes off the smoker is just beyond words.  Moist, tender, smoky….and I like smoked foods, so I’m a sucker for anything he cooks that way.  (Note: if you like ribs, get the half rack.  It comes and you can just pull the bones out, like playing Jenga–and when you’re done, the HALF rack leaves a pile of meat about the mass of a softball–it’s at least 2 cups of meat. NOM!)

And then we hit the holidays…

We went to Beloved’s parents’ house on Christmas Eve, and Ri and Froggy (and my son, BB!) met us there for the Polish custom of “vigil”.  It’s a tradition where you begin about 6 pm (we started earlier to accommodate Froggy’s 9 pm bedtime) and then eat until midnight when everyone goes to Mass.  MIL made a special (Polish) mushroom soup, and we had pierogies–about 4 different kinds.  So we ate, and ate well.  No one went to Mass, but Beloved and I did spend the night to be there for the Christmas festivities in the morning.

We obviously didn’t have money for presents, but I made 3 kinds of candied nuts and some peppermint bark as a sort of gift.  I made Buttered Rum Almonds, Toffee Pistachios and Ginger Cashew Toffee.  All three were very popular, and MIL ate most of the cashews.  I think FIL like the almonds and the pistachios, so that works out well.  I made enough of the peppermint bark that there was some still at home for Beloved, who has nommed it all down.

Since his parents have been helping us so profoundly the past 4 months, they had warned that it would be a “small” Christmas.  Well, if it was their idea of small, I’d be completely overwhelmed to see what a big one would be.  I had given them a list of gift ideas, links to things on Amazon that I liked…I think they bought almost all of them.  Beloved had also given his list, but included some things that he thought I would like–which they also got.  And we both got gift cards with a generous amount on them.  They gave both of us a Kindle Paperwhite, and it’s wonderful.  I am really enjoying it.  Beloved gave his (old) Kindle to his father and I gave my old one to his sister.  So 4 people got Kindles that day–and his mother was not unhappy because she got her iPod, HAHA! So my haul for the day was 4 shirts, a cotton terry bathrobe (long in length and with a hood, used for actually drying myself off after a shower); a ceramic santoku knife, a couple of specialty chocolate bars (one with chilis and cherries, the other with pieces of ginger), 2 gift cards, a USB Nintendo 64 controller/game pad so that I can play N64 on my computer (and I’m using the heck out of it, playing Ocarina of Time); a framed picture of one his sister’s costume designs that she says “got her into graduate school”.  She gave a different one to each of us, so Beloved and I have to figure out where to hang our two pictures.  And of course, I got the Paperwhite.  WAY more than I expected, WAY more than they should have done–I was totally prepared not to get any gifts at all.  So to get that much was overwhelming.

MIL made a turkey dinner since the sister missed Thanksgiving with us, so we ate that Christmas evening and stayed another night there.  Wednesday, we took said sister and all our booty and headed home.  It was 24 hours of doing nothing, hanging out, reading our new Kindles or in Sis’s case, her new book (the first of the “Hunger Games”–she got the trilogy).  We did go out for Mexican food for dinner, but other than that, we spent our time being complete couch potatoes.   M- & FIL came out to our house to pick her up early Thursday evening.  We made dinner out of the turkey dinner leftovers MIL had sent home with us.  Friday, we ran errands in Warrenton–dropping off the bank statements for Social Services, faxing the lawyer the SSA paperwork I still have to fill out and send back, depositing the last LTD check in the bank and getting the rent check.

Between being out of our own home for 3 days and then having Sis over (while great to see her, and pleasant to be able to offer her the chance to de-stress) and then running errands, we were “done wore out”, as they say. Saturday and Sunday have been sent doing as little as possible, sleeping and playing on the computer.  We both need it–and the weather changed, so I was in bad pain for Friday and Saturday.  With the help of my Beloved, who analyzes everything, we managed to abort a migraine yesterday for me–but he insisted I take a muscle relaxer and they tend to make me…high.  So I made sure I did not do any driving!  LOL

It looks like we will have a quiet, just the two of us kind of New Year’s.  This year has gone by in a blur–and not necessarily because it was going that fast, but because I was so “out of it” for great portions of time.  Don’t remember much of February or March… When you don’t have a schedule, when you’re not having to go to work, it’s very easy for the days to slip by, one after another and then it’s a week gone, then a month and before you know it…seasons change and you have no idea what happened the past 60 days.  It’s part of the reason I am very careful to check the bottom left corner of my computer screen–time, day of the week and the date prominently displayed.  Or I’d completely lose track of “when” it is.

Of course we had visits from Ri and Froggy, since they got here the first week of December.  Froggy is 14 months old, thinking about walking but crawling very well.  He’s a happy, easy going child, like his father was—and seems to remember us (fondly) each time we see him.  Skype has paid off!  Now if I could just get my Lizard to install it so I can see the EG once in a while.  On the other hand, having a mobile baby here meant a certain amount of rearrangement to child-proof and protect the technology from little fingers.  That has had the unexpected benefit of opening up more space and making the main room feel larger.  I suspect that when we are completely done, and things are where we want them, we have the furniture that we want, etc… it’s going to be unique and very different from anything I’ve ever lived in before.

We already have the bed in the living room–and super smart engineer-minded Beloved made the point that we need walk space all the way around it, so why not put it down by the patio door, where we also have to have walk space in the same pattern?  We regain about 65 square feet of usable space that way.  Might not seem like a lot, but when you’re only talking about a 13 by 24 room, you’ll take all the usable space you can get!  That also puts our desks down at the end with the windows, no one is sitting in the pathway to the patio, and we can arrange our desks together better than if they were across the room from each other.  (As they would have been with the bed in its current position.)  Now if we could just get the boxes sorted and taken care of…

Still working on the hellhole of a kitchen.  I am running dishes through a dishwasher that needs replacing since it doesn’t really work the way it’s supposed to.  So it gets clean what it gets clean, the rest I try again and then I’ll hand wash.  It is reducing the amount of things to hand wash to a stack that’s not so completely overwhelming.  I know the knives and wooden things never go in the dishwasher, so I’m okay with doing those…but there are some things that just will NOT come clean in the machine and I’m going to have to do them manually.  Sigh.  I HATE to wash dishes.  Really HATE.  I’d rather do almost anything instead of washing them, so it’s VERY easy to find something else to do and let them go another day.  Did I mention that I’ve got a bit of problem keeping track of time?  Can’t put it off any longer, but doing it in clumps of energy rather than making myself insanely in pain doing it all at once.  And I’m rediscovering counter tops….

Also trying to do more cooking.  We had eggs, sausage and whomp biscuits (canned) for breakfast yesterday; dinner was (premade) Jamaican Jerk chicken breast and sweet potatoes (Beloved also had some white potatoes, mashed up).  It’s quinoa and sausage for breakfast today, and I’ve pulled a marinated in mesquite pork loin out of the freezer to thaw.  Not sure if I’m actually going to roast it, or just make BBQ sauce and braise it (boil it in the sauce, basically) and make pulled pork.  If I do, I’ll get Beloved to make some rice to go with it.  We need to go grocery shopping soon…but not today.  I expect the stores to be busy today with people preparing for tonight…

I guess that’s about it for now.  Have a safe and Happy New Year this evening–do not drink and drive!!  And may your New Year be joyous and blessed!

Namaste!

Thank Goodness for Everything

It’s that time of year again.  The air is crisp, the trees are showing off their autumn colors, football is in full swing and Turkey Day is upon us.  It’s the one time of year that so many people remember to be thankful…oblivious to the need to be thankful all year round.  Oh well.

What am I thankful for?  Every day that I wake up breathing.  My granddaughter, sitting on my lap and talking to me about Elmo.  My deeply and dearly Beloved, bringing me white chocolate peppermint kettle corn (at Wegman’s, OMG good) and a cinnamon pretzel because he knows I like them.  A roof over my head and food in mah belly.  A computer that lets me connect with my family and friends, and make new friends.  And play endless hours of mindless games when I cannot do anything else.  The ocean.  The sunset.  (I don’t see sunrises, I’ve heard that they can be just as magnificent.)  Water when I’m thirsty.  Wine when I’m with friends.  Black Bear Bistro.  My purple PT Cruiser.  The quiet stillness of a forest clearing, carpeted in pine needles and glowing green.  Fireworks.  Hot tea.  My children and the fact that they are my friends as well.  My children’s significant others.  The beauty of the first snowfall and the fact that I can see it from inside of a warm house.  Rocks.  Technology.  That Mr. Obama is our President and has four more years of bringing us together as a nation.  That women voted and made their voices heard.  Froggy.  The generosity of strangers.  Life.

We have so much to be thankful for, Beloved and I.  We’ve received letters stating that we applied for SSDI.  We knew that, but everyone wants a copy of that letter.  Mine actually went out to some place in West VA, to be sent to me through the kindness of the poor person who had it tucked in with their correspondence from SSA.  We have a signed lease, which means a secure place to live for at least another year.  We’ve gotten the paperwork to fill out for HIS Long Term Disability (fingers crossed that it will be approved, it means Mo’Money and that’s always good).

We haven’t been very good about moving forward with our plan to simplify things and move them all around.  We did get rid of our large microwave, trading it to his mother for her little one.  “Are you sure?”  Oh yes, yes we are.  Take it and heat things up in good health and with our best wishes.  I’ve got the big cabinets almost emptied of stuff so that we can dismantle them and put smaller, more usable things in their place in the kitchen.  And we may not have to drive to IKEA for that kitchen cart–our Target has something suitable, with a folding shelf that makes it into a breakfast bar or adds work space if needed.  We borrowed a dolly cart from his dad and hopefully, when our friend with the muscles comes over this week, she will be willing to move some things for us.

So Thursday is Thanksgiving and I am responsible for the star of the show–I am cooking the turkey.  Well, first, I am brining the turkey, using a much altered version of Alton Brown’s brining recipe.  He uses vegetable stock and water.  I am going to brine my Tom in Dr. Pepper (and water).  The throw back version, made with real sugar.  Did you know that Dr. Pepper has like 26 different and distinct flavors in it?  So Tom will swim in Dr. Pepper, pickling spices, sugar and salt and ice.  It’s called osmosis and when he’s done swimming, he will be a most moist and flavorful bird.  And we’re just beginning.

On Thursday, I will weave a magical blanket for Tom out of…BACON!  YES!  A bacon blanket, to cover his turkeymanboobs.  Then, I will wrap his tender trusting legs in more bacon.  I will not wrap his wings in bacon because I will tuck them up behind his neck….  I might carefully powder him just ever so slightly with Old Bay spice, since everyone loves an Old Bay Spice TurkeyMan.  I will lovingly insert aromatic vegetables into the thoughtfully available cavity between his bacon-wrapped limbs.  And I shall follow the Kitchen God’s (Alton Brown’s) instructions for roasting: 15 minutes at 500 degrees, then 350 until the correct internal temperature is ALMOST reached.
(Because when you take him out of the oven, Tom continues to cook; take him out a few degrees below done and by the time you are ready to carve, he will have reached the exactly correct temperature and will NOT be overdone and inedible.)

And he shall sweat and simmer and gently roast, bathed in the slow gentle rendering of bacon fat.  His skin shall crisp and brown, the bacon will also crisp but the meat…shall be so sweet, so succulent and melt in the mouth tasty.  It will be like eating the food of the gods and we shall rejoice and be thankful for the generous bird, who gave his all, so that we could feast upon him.  And I’m also making cranberry SALSA to take along with Tom to the in-laws for the meal.  The recipe is actually on the back of the cranberry package…but basically it’s like any salsa, except that you substitute the cranberries for tomatoes.  I have sesame/flax chips to eat it with.  The rest of the meal is up to the MIL–she mentioned mashed potatoes, yams and pureed turnips.

Our friend of the muscles is bringing her daughter with her on Wednesday and if Mom has to work Thanksgiving, Daughter will be going with us to Beloved’s parents.  Could be interesting, but it’s always fun to have more people around.  Doctor’s appointment tomorrow, mandated by the damned but necessary paperwork for disability.  I have to be almost continually re-approved, to prove ongoing medical care.  This is going to get very expensive if I have to do it more than 3 or 4 times a year, since it’s about $200 to see him without insurance.  Sigh.

Thanksgiving.  Then 2 weeks later, the RainBat drives up from GA with my Froggy to spend the holidays.  She, bless her heart, has also promised to help move and organize.  We’ll get this done eventually, I hope.  Otherwise, I’m getting a snow shovel and just shit canning it all.  Then comes Yule/Christmas and the New Year and before you know it, it’s the end of the world.  Or at least the end of 2012.  I am a little concerned about the coincidence of Twinkies dying off just as this year comes to an end…but how did the Mayans know?

The change in weather has of course affected me.  The fibromyalgia is pretty much same as it ever was, same as it ever was.  (Talking Heads allusion)  I am clumsy and Beloved says it’s because I haven’t had the chiropractor put my hips back in alignment lately.  Ah well, that’s another doctor bill we can’t afford now.  (Well, ok, after the 30th.)  Incidentally, because fibro is a “self reported medical issue” (I don’t have a blood test result or MRI to prove that I have it), long term disability will last only 2 years.  Too bad the fibro will go on the rest of my life.  Slight discrepancy there.

So that’s about it for us now; paperwork, Thanksgiving, stirring our stuff around in the attempt to instill some order and simplicity to our lives.  May you be blessed with a wondrous feast, surrounded by family and friends or family that is friends; may you have the wisdom to see how much there is to be thankful for–and remember it more than just one day a year.  And may Dallas lose.  (I’m a long time Redskins fan, it’s an old habit.)

Namaste!

The Long and Winding Road….

 

So it’s been a while since I’ve posted and I’d like to bring you up to date on life in general.

 

I last posted a (fairly) long blog about my dad but it’s been too long since I’ve talked to my parents.  Guess that’s on my “to do” list.  Along with a bunch of other things.  Sigh.  The weather has been playing havoc with my fibro, so it’s not been a particularly active month–along with it being too damned hot to go to the pool.

So Beloved and I have been doing our thing on the computer, taking lots of naps and only going out when we must–for food, to deposit the disability check in the bank and to see doctors.  We are filling out the forms for permanent disability and will go to the lawyer’s office for her clerk to help us file them electronically and start that process.  They really aren’t that horrific to fill out, just lots of pages for doctor information–and that’s the hardest part, finding all the contact info for this MD or that.

We did have a bright spot in this month–we spent last weekend up in Reston, with his best friend (and his girlfriend). Nice to be out of the house and looking at someone else’s 4 walls.  Had lots of good food, good wine, played some interesting (European) table games and talked, talked, talked.  Nothing outrageous, but lots of fun.  Between his work schedule and our lack of gas money, we don’t get to see them often enough.  So 36 hours of togetherness was a good thing.  Funny part about it was that we packed like we were going on safari…took our laptops, took our cpap breathing machines, took food to share…took our pillows and blankies, too, LOL.

Drove down to Fishersville (a 2 hour trip, each direction) yesterday only to find out that the doctor was having surgery (nothing major) and Beloved’s appointment had been cancelled–but they hadn’t been able to reach us.  Oops!  That’s what we get for giving them the landline and then turning off the ringer.  It was a nice ride.  Waste of gas, but a nice ride.  So we’ll be going back down there next week to make up for the miss.

Got to talk to my children recently, which is always a good thing.  When my daughter-in-love calls me, I can hear the Froggy in the background.  He is a most emphatic speaker!  And she says he’s already telling her “nah” (no) about things.  He’s sitting up on his own, holds his own bottle and can feed himself his finger foods–and is learning the sign language signs for drinking and eating (and needing a diaper change).  He also indicates when he is sleepy and wants a nap.  Being able to communicate meaningfully with your child removes a great deal of the frustration of new parenting.  And since babies CAN sign earlier then they can speak, this is a good way to “talk” with them.  I know it helps her that he is picking up on this fast–and has a laid-back temperament, since she has to do so much of it by herself, with Dad being gone to work.  (And I got to talk to *him* online one evening, just by chance.)

I also got to talk to my Lizard, and while we’re talking, EG comes by and Lizard asks her if she wants to say hi to Grandmom.  And I got to hear this little voice very clearly say, “Hi Grandmom”.  First time!  Yes, it made me tear up.  Her mother says that she is adding exponentially to her vocabulary and is stringing words together into sentences.  Hoping they can come see me soon.  I thought my children grew fast…my grandchildren are growing almost faster, it seems.  Or is it just that time moves faster on the downhill side?

I find myself getting more and more embroiled in political things.  Me, the most un-political person you’d ever meet.  How bad must it be, if I am willing to open my mouth about political stuff like the upcoming Presidential election?  And the current war on women?  (And if you think there isn’t a war on women, you haven’t been paying attention.)  And then there’s the social justice stuff, like boycotting Chik-Fil-A because they fund anti-gay groups and are against gay marriage.  If I were patient enough, I’d just wait until my grandchildren take over the world, but frankly, we need change now.  Women are being stripped of rights (and by association, power) and are headed back to being second class citizens…along with the gays, the blacks, the “others” that aren’t rich old white men.  The wealth in this country is so severely out of balance as to who has it and who doesn’t that we are headed for our own version of the French Revolution…history does repeat itself, especially if we will not learn from it.

The current Tea Party claims about this being a Christian country particularly offends me.  They are not apparently aware of just how many people, how many AMERICAN citizens are NOT Christian at all–including quite a few of the Founding Fathers, that they keep quoting as if they had been.  Learn your history,  stupid.  And “not Christian” does not mean “bad, immoral, evil”.  There is a reason we need to keep religion out of bed with politics–they just don’t make a good pair.  And when you KNOW that you are right, that you have the ONLY right way, there is no way to compromise with you about anything–and if that includes laws (like anti-abortion, transvaginal ultrasounds, no birth control, etc)….it just needs to stop.

Sorry, I’ll get down off my soapbox now.  For me personally, there is still a certain level of pain–and the weather just makes it go crazy.  I have been taking more pain pills, but on the other hand,  I feel like I’ve been a little more active, so maybe this is an improvement.  I have a website that I am transferring over to WordPress (but still hosting on my server) so that I can update the pages easier.  It’s a little bit at a time sort of work, to get the current content moved over.  Thank the gods for cut and paste!

So nothing major new, no real disasters to have to report.  Our friend who was in Europe most of the month (post-graduation trip) is home and coming today to spend this weekend with us, which will be fun.  Been a while since we’ve seen her and she brings a fresh energy into the house.  Who knows, we might even get some more house arranging done with her here to help?!

That’s about it for now…if I think of something else to post, I’ll try not to let it go more than a week!  Keep cool and do some fun summer thing.

 

What to do With an Evil Genius Smart Toddler?

So beloved and I went to the daughter’s for Memorial Day, which also happened to be my granddaughter’s 2nd birthday.  I realize I am biased, but she is the best, smartest, most wonderful fabulous girl child a grandmother could hope for.  (Grandchildren are God’s way of rewarding you for not killing your own children.)  So for our purposes, I will refer to her as “EG” (Evil Genius), like I refer to my grandson as “Froggy”.  This is a public forum and I prefer to use aliases just because.

We left home early enough to beat the searing heat that was promised (and certainly showed up).  My daughter, Lizard, lives on the edge of a national forest in an apartment that is amazingly nicer than her last place–better neighborhood, nicer neighbors, and the apartment itself is very nice.  They are up on the 3rd floor so it was interesting for both of us to make it up there…but it does give them a nice balcony and view.  EG seemed happy to see us, which was good because we haven’t had the chance to see her as often as we’d like.

We of course took her a birthday present–she has been fascinated by a 20 sided die that granddad has.  It’s mostly clear, but has some colored sparkles inside of it.  So we got her 5 of these dice, in a slightly larger size so that she can’t put them into her mouth.  Starting her early as a “Gamer Girl”…and it IS a teaching toy, as the numbers on the die can be used to help her learn her numbers and identifying them by sight.  She liked them because they were colorful and the only warning we had to give her mother is that she might fling them and cause dings on the wall.  Oh well.

We also took tuna salad, Grandpa made, with the idea that this would be our lunch and leftovers would be used up during the rest of the week.  (Since my daughter told me that EG loves tuna salad.)  Her father had indicated that she would only eat the salad he made, so beloved felt that was a bit of a challenge.  After everyone got to taste it, the general consensus was that Grandpa’s tuna salad was, and I quote, banging!

Well, it got to be lunchtime and as we began to express our hunger, EG’s dad (CJ) says, “I want wings” and that was like magic words…we ALL wanted wings.  And oh what wings they were.  From a local place, with about 15 different sauces.  So I got an order with Old Bay and an order with lemon pepper.  Lizard got something she called “24 carat gold” which is a very nice honey mustard.  CJ got Buffalo at thermonuclear levels of hot.  Beloved got teriyaki and something called “tandoori”– which were amazing, and it’s a curry style rub.  The wings themselves were crisp but juicy–and HALAL, which is the Muslim form of Kosher.  Larger wings, just incredibly good.  We fell on them and ate like starving wolves.  NOM!

The other adults were amused that they got me to watch about 3 movies I had never seen before: How to Train Your Dragon, Stardust, and Cars.  We spent a lovely day, doing nothing stupendous other than sharing time with each other.  I got to snuggle with my granddaughter, which was golden and spend time with her mom and dad as well.  Lizard was happy that I got to see her house–and she has decorated and arranged it to be homey.  EG has her own room, which has glow in the dark stars for her to look at as she falls asleep…and butterflies and flowers for daytime.  The big bear that we gave her last year sits in a place of honor by her bed.  (He’s about 4 feet tall, so “big bear” is an accurate description.)  She is also working towards a “big girl bed” without side rails.

It was fun to listen to her speak, as her vocabulary is expanding exponentially and she actually says three syllable words–like “Amazing”!  She has an incredible attention span for a child her age and is certainly living up to the early description of evil genius smart.  I certainly consider it worth the 2 hour drive to see her and of course, I’m always glad when they come down to our house.

So Monday was the start of a good week.  My meds are starting to really be good and almost to the levels I need.  Probably have a little more tweaking here and there to really fine tune it, but…for the first time in over a year, I have the feeling of “normal”.  I mean, like I used to feel.  It’s a fragile thing, easily broken because of the loss of muscle tone and lack of endurance, but it’s a start back to feeling (dare I say it) actually good!?  Less pain, more able to do things.  Saw the chiropractor on Saturday and asked him to adjust my hands and wrists–and there was NO pain after having it there for more than a year.  I can actually do things with my hands again.  It’s an amazing thing.  I still tire easily and like I said, got to build up both muscle tone and endurance, but it’s a brighter looking future than I had 2 months ago.  Better living through chemistry!

We’re still utterly poor and trying to work out how to increase the money income…I need to go to Fredericksburg and find the VA office, to see what kind of benefits I am eligible for (after a 4 year stint in the Air Force)–quite possibly they will pay for meds, possibly doctor visits.  That would help immeasurably.  Looking into the food stamps thing.  Contacting the lawyer to start the process for application and approval of SSDI for both of us.  Or as my friend told me, “Decide what you need and then figure out how to ask for it.”

Got the console table put at the front door, parallel to the fridge, where we can drop our keys; it also holds our SodaStream unit.  Beloved is working on sliding the desks around a bit and get me off the laptop and onto a desktop.  (He’s got me playing a new game and so he’s got incentive to get me onto a computer that can do it gracefully without incredible latency.)  Hopefully we can also sort through the boxes that are still floating around and find places to store it which will open up space.  Our friend has offered seating in the form of couch, chair and ottoman once she replaces them with her own new set.  So we also have reason to get things in better order.

The rearrangement of the kitchen continues to prove the worth of that move–it is accommodating to the reality of our lives and makes working in there much easier.  We are trying to have that mindset for the rest of the house: arrange it to accommodate our reality, the reality of disability and inability to do things in the “normal” way.  We are both mentally capable of making that distinction and have the desire to see it through.  And we have friends that will help with the heaviest stuff.

So that’s about it for now.  I hope that the improvement will continue, at least to a level that allows some quality of life and ability to do things with my hands.

Namaste!

Your Mother Wears Combat Boots!

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day.  All across the nation, kids are going to burn the toast and undercook the scrambled eggs, both of which Mom will eat with a smile.  Dads will take the family out and the restaurant business will boom so that Mom doesn’t have to cook at least one meal this year.  The florists and Hallmark will also rake in big money.  By the way, this is the phone companies’ biggest day.

As a country, we still sort of have a Donna Reed/Harriet Nelson view of Mother’s Day…wonderful sentiment but does not address the fact this can be a day that causes pain for many, many women.  Motherhood can be a wonderful thing or it can be a nightmare, from both sides–mom or child.

What does Mother’s Day mean to the population of mothers who have to visit their children…incarcerated in prisons, institutionalized in psych wards or living in a state run home?  Or worse yet, have to make a trip to the cemetery because their child is no longer living?  Or have a child that was given up for adoption because they could not raise it, for whatever reason?  What does Mother’s Day mean to the population of women who either cannot conceive or carry a pregnancy to term?  Who have had a miscarriage (or more than one)?  Who gave birth to a stillborn child?  Or because of their own health issues, were never able to even try for a child of their own?  What does Mother’s Day mean to the population of women who became mothers through marriage?  They have had to learn how to combine the honeymoon period of a new husband with instant children that they did not give birth to but must mother (nurture and care) for?  And who resent her and remind her frequently that she is not their “real” mother and cannot replace her?

So this is a Mother’s Day blog for all women, trying to acknowledge all of the facets of this most feminine of roles.  If you’re not a mother, you had one.  She may have been Donna Reed or she may have been the bitch from hell, but you had a mom.  She has a lot of names: Mom, Mother, Mommy, Mama, Ma…and lots of other interesting names that are as individual as the person to whom they refer.  Erma Bombeck had a wonderful description of mothers that included such tidbits as “she was the only person in the house who knew how to replace the toilet paper on the spindle” and “she lived on coffee and leftovers”.  What else is particular to moms?

How about the fact that it is assumed she will handle all of the nasty parts of the little people?  She deals with vomit, blood, snot, urine and feces on an appallingly regular basis.  She cleans up spit out and spattered deposits of refused food…that strained spinach, the butternut squash.  She also deals with the anticipated results of attempting to blow a raspberry with a mouthful of pureed beets.  She gets used to wearing shirts that had permanent “spit up” stains on the shoulders.  She learns how to remove a dry pea from a child’s ear using common household implements and to overcome the normal childhood fears of being flushed down the toilet or going down the drain with the bath water.

Another Mom trait is the ability to see from the eyes in the back of her head…and arms that stretch to pop a smart mouthed kid where it counts–from across the room.  Moms know if you’re lying, the fact that you sneaked in late and that your best friend is actually a thug…a thing that you will agree with in about a month.  Moms stay up late with the crying babes which gives them the experience they need to sit up and watch for your return by curfew when you’re a teenager.  Moms get by with just a couple of hours of sleep for like years…and you wonder why they are crazy.  Sleep deprivation is a bad thing…

Moms yell the loudest at the basketball games, cheer the most when you make the winning touchdown and never say a word when you’ve lost other than “You played a good game”.  Moms let you get that pet turtle and then help you bury it because you forgot to feed it.  And then let you get another turtle.  (Which she secretly feeds so that she doesn’t have to dig another hole in her flower beds because Raphael just didn’t make it.  But this time you’re feeding it too…so it dies, the fattest turtle ever seen, of undiagnosed turtle diabetes and heart attack…sigh)

And I know at this point, some of you are going, “Yeah right.  MY mom wasn’t like that at all.”  I know.  There are moms who yell at the kids more than at those basketball games.  Who are self-medicating their own pains with alcohol or drugs which obviously interferes with their ability to nurture.  There are mothers who really don’t want to be moms…and if they are forced to keep the baby, take out their frustration on the child.  There are mothers who inflict pain, mental or physical, on their children for a variety of reasons, none of them good even if the reason is perhaps understandable.

It may come as a shock to you, but (and I’m warning you, this is going to very shocking!)….mothers are human, too.  (Please don’t tell anyone I let the secret out.)  So if your mom was not a good mom, it’s okay to say that out loud.  And to learn from her mistakes to be a good mom to your own children, if you choose to have them.  (Even good moms drive their kids insane with their weirdness…especially from a teenagers’ point of view.)  And it’s okay to NOT call your mother on Mother’s Day if she is toxic to your well being and undermines your life with her negativity.  As my friends have heard me say often enough: Just because you share DNA with someone doesn’t give them the right to treat you worse than they treat a stranger off the street.  You are allowed to let go of those people who have common chromosomes to choose a family of your own–the people who support you and want the best for you.  If it cannot be someone who is related by biology, it can be someone who is related by love.

I am a mother with three children.  My eldest, a girl, I have seen exactly twice in her life–when she was born and 29 years later, when she came to visit me.  I also have a son, who is 4th generation military service with a wife and son–who looks just like him and acts just like him as well.  Look out, world!  My youngest, also a daughter, has a daughter of her own and already informed me, with some acidity, that the Mother’s Curse works.  (“May you have a child JUST LIKE YOU!”)  If I do nothing, absolutely nothing else of any worth in my life, I have given 3 amazing contributions to this world each of whom I hope will make a difference to those around them.  They are all intelligent, witty and achieving things in their lives.  I am insanely proud of each of them and proud to call them “friends” as well as “my kids”.  Like most other mothers, I did the best I knew how–in the case of the oldest, in choosing to give her up for adoption rather than trying to be a single mom in the military, across the country from my family and with no real support for such an undertaking.  With the other two, I raised them, as I have always said, without repeating my mother’s mistakes.  I made plenty enough of my own, new ones!

I take no credit for child #1; her adoptive parents gave her many opportunities I could never have.  She is a skilled musician (plays piano and bass (in an orchestra, not a bass guitar) and sings); she is currently a rather senior marketing and events coordination person for the MS society in CA.  She is getting married to the love of her life this month and I am so happy for her.  I have dealt for years with the consequences of voluntarily letting go of a child but I consider it to have been the absolutely right choice and still is through today.

My other two were wonderful additions to my life.  I was fortunate enough to be able to stay at home with them until the younger was about 10.  I got to see the “firsts”–first step, first words, first day of school.  We had a lot of good times, doing nothing of great importance.  Playing video games together.  Making popcorn and watch Warner Brothers cartoons for hours.  I got introduce them to all sorts of things: new foods, new ideas, new ways of thinking about something.  I taught them that the most important question is “why” and worth looking for the answer.  I encouraged them to be who they were, without apology or excuse.  I gave advice and (I’d like to think) even knew when to be silent and let them learn it themselves.  I truly enjoyed every phase of their growing up and it has all passed so quickly that I’m not sure where the years went–and then I look into the eyes of my grandchildren and see myself peeking out.  I have loved and still love being a mother, being their mother.  (Although I am glad that the intensive “hands on” portion is done.)

So on this Mother’s Day, I’d like to honor all mothers, stepmothers, “real” mothers and those who gave up their chance for mothering to someone else; the women who want to be mothers but can’t, and yes, to the dads who are moms too.  To the moms who stay at home and those who do all the work at home while holding down a 9 to 5 “out of the house” job (or two).  To the moms who try each day to gently lead their children from being unsociable wild animals into people who eat with forks, say “please” and help old ladies across the street.  To the moms who stand back, chewing on their knuckles and let their children learn some new (dangerous!) thing like riding a bike without interfering.  To the moms who mother without smothering.  To the moms who let their kids mess up the kitchen, the basement or the house with their first attempts at cooking, blanket forts and sleepovers.  To the moms who let their kids get away with stuff without ever letting on that she knew.  To the moms who kissed all the boo-boos, made peanut butter and jelly sammiches “just right!” and made the house a home.  To the moms who wore skirts and high heels to work and the ones who wore jeans and sneakers.  To all the other moms who also encouraged her kids to ask “why”? but didn’t pretend that she had all the answers.  (That’s why there is Google.)

And  on this Mother’s Day, I want to especially honor the moms who wear camouflage and combat boots, work half a world away from home and are serving our country rather than being at home with their children.  Theirs is a special commitment to patriotism that supersedes motherhood–or in a way, ensures that our country will continue to be a place to have and raise children.  They give up something that cannot ever be replaced and I hope that their children will understand the reason and honor their mom for that choice.

A salute, a toast to moms, all moms everywhere.

Oh and a quick history lesson of the title I chose:

“Your mother wears combat (army) boots!”

A Dictionary of Catch Phrases (1986) by Eric Partridge has an entry for the expression, which says that “your mother wears army boots” was first used in the US during World War Two and was originally “very derisive, then jocularly derisive.” No speculation on the origin of the term is given, but the article quotes from a source which gives the following as variants: “your mother drives a tank,” “your mother eats K rations,” “your mother works in a dime store,” and “ah, yer mother wears cotton drawers.”

Generally used as a schoolyard taunt, like the phrase “go jump in a lake” or “go soak your head” and what we used to say to insult someone else before the phrase “fuck you” was invented. (Not really.  The word “fuck” has been around longer than “your mother wears combat boots”. LOL)  My kids rapidly figured out it couldn’t be that dreadful a thing since their mother did, indeed, wear combat boots.

Namaste!